


Limerence

by hitchhikingbabeh



Series: Limerence/Saudade [1]
Category: K-pop, SHINee
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-29
Updated: 2016-07-29
Packaged: 2020-05-12 11:19:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 93,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19228120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hitchhikingbabeh/pseuds/hitchhikingbabeh
Summary: A story of deception, love, pain and forgiveness originally uploaded in 2015. Reader discretion is advised.





	1. Limerence

For better and for worse, you’ve always been a little iffy with punctuality. To the point that you are always early or too late to all of your personal social outings. It baffles you and your friends and colleagues, too, because you’re never late to work, were never late to class or work in college, ever. Some people ask if you just prefer work over going out, but it’s easy to see that you feel more at ease in the smoking section of a high end bar than behind a glass desk with eyes glued to your monitors.

The point is, you’ve always had a rocky relationship with timing.

So far, you’ve been home early from work four times in your professional career.

The first time you were rushed home because you fainted in your office. It was nothing serious, you’d just been dehydrated due to poor nutrition and high stress. Your new project wasn’t going to develop itself, and though you always beat yourself up about overworking yourself, it’s too gratifying to seeing the show’s ratings rise thanks to your effort. That afternoon, your closest friend in the office helped you to your front door, and you stepped into a very surprising sight.

“Hey, stranger,” your smile widens as you kick off your pumps and walk towards the living room, where a raven haired man sits comfortably. You didn’t even know Jinki was in the country. All of the lethargy and stress in your body takes a break for a while, because however packed your schedule is, his is nearly always a few times worse and you’d hate not being supportive of him now that he’s here. 

You don’t have to say it out loud, that you’re tired and that he looks exhausted, because the way he spreads his arms wide open in your direction already makes you feel better; Jinki always knows exactly what to do to make you feel like you’re on top of the world.

Which is why days like those are the ones you’ll never forget.

The second time you were home early, it wasn’t for a specific reason. You’d left some paperwork at home by mistake and had come back to retrieve it, only to receive a call to inform you that the documents were no longer needed and to hear that  _well, since you’re already home, might as well take the rest of the day, you seem like you need some rest_. Jinki was in Thailand then, and work had been the only thing keeping your mind from him, but you take advantage of the offer and lounge around your apartment until you eventually fall asleep.

The third time was the night of Jinki’s birthday. He wasn’t there that time either─he was at Kibum’s apartment, unaware of the surprise party you’d all planned─and you were there because you forgot your gift for him.

Well, you forgot to put it  _on_.

The fourth─the last time you were home early, was a Friday, and you’d finished all of the week’s work by lunch time. Your supervisor, whom you’re fairly close with, had finished her bulk of work as well and decided you should both head out early. You got the chance to even pick up a quick cup of coffee with her and chat briefly, until she confesses that it’s her wedding anniversary. You quickly send her off and stroll home with lightness on your shoulders and a bit of a lilt in your step. In the interim you receive a text from Jonghyun, to confirm your play date that night, and you happily inform him that you’re already done for the day and that you could go ahead of schedule if he could. He calls you immediately, and tells you that it might be that kind of Friday but he just came up with the best play date idea and that he’ll be over your apartment to pick you up as soon as possible.

It’s been ages since you last got to see him, since he’s been as busy as Jinki if not busier. Your friendship is tightly-knit, you’ve always felt like you could tell him anything. He was the closest thing you had to a best friend since your college years, and you can never say no to seeing him or Taemin, though the latter is more like a brother; an annoying twin brother. You take in the sweet air as you pocket your phone, and let out a smile. 

The last lick of summer is always the most pleasant, where early evenings are just perfectly chilly, but the heat of the day still lurks in nooks and crevices of the city. Soon enough you’re riding the elevator to your place and wondering if Jinki might ever be home early the same day you are.

Your earphones are blasting a summer night kind of song as you open your front door to the familiar smell of your dark wooden floors. You take a deep breath and let it out as you slip off of your shoes, because you hate wearing shoes during the weekend. The wood feels warm under your feet and you pad quietly around the living room. You smile a little bit when you catch yourself, because Jinki always tells you that you walk with twinkle toes and it’s almost impossible to hear you move around the apartment. You’re apparently eerily quiet even when you’re doing the dishes.

 _At least there’ll never be a knock to the door with a complaint from a neighbour,_ you muse as you walk around the kitchen and get yourself a glass of water, _at least not at night or whenever we have a day off─_

Oh? There are two glasses set out at the breakfast table. Was Jinki home earlier? If he was, did he have a guest? You give out a small shrug and turn your heel towards your bedroom to freshen up to meet Jonghyun, and the curiosity stings in the back of your mind.

It’s an uncommon, sour sting that feels like a stab when you open your bedroom doors.

Skin on skin, eyes on eyes, his hands are moving and so is his mouth, and even if you can’t hear what he’s saying, it’s obvious, it’s so obvious because you can see glistening skin and small, delicate limbs on top of him and she’s smiling with furrowed eyebrows and she’s actually stunning and she’s not─she’s not─

She’s not  _you_.

Did you call his name? Because he’s looking up at you now, and the lights of the city and the one from your bedside lamp glisten on his face and you can see red marks on his neck. His lips are swollen and stained and this sight always gave you butterflies but now the back of your throat tastes like bile.

You blanch when your brain mechanically sets you in gear to flee, to apologise, to run, but a stronger part of you puts its foot down and you even let out a chuckle. Jinki’s scrambling himself into looking at least decent, which there’s no need for because everyone else in the room has seen him naked already, maybe even the same amount of times. The thought makes you laugh a little harder.

Of all people, it had to be Jinki.

You slump back against the door, which closes with your weight, and then you let yourself slide down to the floor. Your earphones hang off in the process, but the music still echoes softly from your lap. The tips of your toes touch the frilly sundress she’d been wearing, and her underwear is in your direct line of sight. His, too.

Soon enough Jinki’s hands are on your shoulders, and he’s probably making up excuses or trying to apologise, but your eyes are set on the brown-eyed girl still on your bed.

“Don’t touch me.”

The look on your pretty face makes him feel like the worst kind of person, on par with rapists and murderers, so he can’t help releasing you. Even then your eyes don’t shift from her.

She looks so unbelievably confused you’re inclined to believe that she had no idea you even existed. Or that she’s a fantastic actor. You offhandedly wonder what he told her or what she told him, how he lured her in or how she enchanted him, how it all got to this.

 _This_. You, crying on your bedroom floor without making even the ghost of a sound, and him shaking you into at least looking at him. When your eyes finally meet hers and she really looks at you, even she looks heartbroken, caught in such a horrendous lie and probably not even knowing it.

You pity her.

And then your phone starts to ring. It’s loud and particularly alarming, and you easily slip your hand into your jacket pocket to retrieve the device.

It’s Jonghyun. You take a glance at your wristwatch and find that it’s time, that he’s either already waiting for you downstairs or is just a few minutes away.

You answer immediately. 

“Hey~” you even extend the vowel because this situation is so beyond you that you can easily shift your thoughts, away from Jinki and towards Jonghyun and escaping and good banter. 

“You’re downstairs?” you smile knowingly, of course he’s already here. “Give me two minutes, just two minutes and I’ll be right there,” and with a hum, you hang up the phone and gather yourself. You slowly rise to your feet and walk towards your closet, immediately grabbing one of your bigger handbags and quickly stuffing it with a few changes of clothes, a bathing suit, a towel and some tie sandals.

“Please talk to me,” Jinki is begging from behind you as you lift your blouse over your head and exchange it for a white cotton tank top, and slip out of your pencil skirt into a pair of denim shorts. You don’t even acknowledge him, it’s more like you can’t even see him, and you slip on the sandals. The last thing you do is grab a light jacket before you make your way out of the bedroom, though not before grabbing your favourite body spray.

“Let’s talk about this, please.”

You heave a sigh, stopping at the kitchen to retrieve your car keys.

“Where are you going?”

There’s no answer to that, either. Jinki tries to stand against the door to keep you from leaving, and his last question echoes throughout the room at least five more times. “ _Please_ , just tell me where you’re going.”

“I’m coming to get my car in the morning,” your voice is terrifying him. It sounds like you’re not even going to fight him for this. You’re not even going to try to talk. “We’ll talk then.”

It feels like the last straw. That very moment he realises that there’s no way he’ll stop you from leaving, so his hands slip from the doorknob and you quickly leave the apartment. There’s something final about your journey to the lobby and out the building entrance. Like you’re moving out, like this is the last time you’ll ever step a foot in this whole block.

But you do what you do best.

You compartmentalise.

 

_>  [i](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DHh3deK5Bw2A&t=ZTQ2MWFjOWZjOWIyNTUyNGFjY2VjNjY2YTFmMTU1YzgzZGJhMThmYixvZ1dlS05XWQ%3D%3D&b=t%3AcXtpvFymmD9Dd4fNv0MUqQ&p=https%3A%2F%2Fhitchhikingbabeh.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F125331866343%2Flimerence-m&m=1)’ll just start for now with a bottle of wine_

Jonghyun’s car smells like leather and mint, and the scent is so familiar that you feel yourself smile instantly when you take the passenger seat and fasten your seat belt. 

“Long time no see,” Jonghyun’s already cruising out and away, and he gives your hand an affectionate squeeze before his hands return to the steering wheel and the gear stick. “I prepared a lot, I hope you’re excited,” he relaxes against his seat as you enter a wider, more congested road. He looks the most like Jonghyun in these moments, where there’s no need to put on a mask and there’s no need to worry about ten million things.

“I’m very excited,” you surprise yourself with how chipper you actually sound, “what did you bring?”

He motions to the backseat and you look over your shoulder to find a gigantic blanket, a basket full of fruit and you see some cheese in there too. There are two bottles of wine and accompanying glasses, and you can’t help but smile. 

“Are we going to the beach?” you ask with a grin, and he nods at you and his eyes are shining and you’re laughing and it doesn’t sound empty. “The East Sea’s kind of far, though, we can swap halfway,” you suggest, but Jonghyun waves a hand at you and says something about being a man and four hour drives being more than manageable.

You shake your head and smile.

“I know this tiny little strip that’s always deserted. Even at sunset,” Jonghyun coos on, “I’m so hyped. I feel like I haven’t left Seoul in twenty years.”

It’s probably only been a few days but you know that by Seoul, Jonghyun really means  _work_. You give his shoulder a sympathetic squeeze and he smiles back at you. 

“Who’s going to drive back if we’re both going to drink?”

It looks like he hadn’t really thought of that, so you laugh.

“We’ll just have to wait till I sober up?”

“Let’s just stay the night,” you propose, and Jonghyun turns to you with wide eyes for just a moment.

“Stay over? I mean, I don’t really mind since there’s no one waiting for me at home,” he starts, “but you… are you sure?”

You nod enthusiastically at him and he shoots you a sneaky smile. 

“Alright, then we should get proper wasted. I brought my guitar, too. We should watch the sunrise.”

He’s almost too much. “I don’t understand how you’re single,” you chuckle as you shift in your seat.

He sighs, and it sounds slightly defeated. “Neither do I.”

Then your phone starts to ring. You’d been clutching it this whole time, so declining the call and setting your phone on silent takes no time at all.

_Jinki - missed call_

“If anyone else saw all this they’d think we’re dating, Jjong,” you go on, and Jonghyun bursts out laughing.

“I’m just a romantic person. This is how I do bro dates,” he explains, and you’re laughing a little harder. “I’m not kidding! I did the same thing with Minho and Taemin a few weeks ago, and they had no complaints. So shut up and listen to this album I discovered last night, it’s fucking great and I think you’ll love it.”

The thought of those three on such a romantic getaway has you laughing even harder, and you’re wiping away small tears as Jonghyun frantically tries to defend his actions. He truly is romantic in every aspect of the word, and you know for certain that his intentions have always been good when it comes to you. The moment the two of you met you both felt this gentle need to become friends, really good friends, and the look in his eyes hasn’t changed from how it was back then. You never were just Jinki’s girlfriend, you were something more.

Though you don’t know exactly what.

Your phone rings again. The call’s from Taemin. He doesn’t give up on the first try, though, so your phone vibrates for quite a while. The music masks whatever sound it might make, so Jonghyun is completely oblivious the entire time. Your eyes burn a little bit when you do give the device a look.

_Taemin - missed calls (6)_

You turn it off.

It’s a whole fifteen minutes till Jonghyun’s phone starts to ring, and you’re thankful he doesn’t have it connected to the car. You watch as he releases a hand to grab his earphones and answers the call when he slips one in. Lifting yourself from your seat a bit, you can read the caller’s name.

It’s Jinki. You almost smile.

“What’s up?” Jonghyun asks with nonchalance, and you’re fearful of what might happen next. “Yeah, she’s with me. Here, talk to her,” Jonghyun doesn’t wait for Jinki to respond and tugs his earphones off, passing you the device with an encouraging smile. 

“Your dumb boyfriend calling~” he sings, and you laugh and take the device from his hands.

“Hi,” you settle the phone by the ear farthest from Jonghyun after pulling out the headset, and your voice is casual.

“Where are you? Why are you with Jonghyun?” his voice is really hoarse, like he’s been crying or screaming or both.

“Jjong and I had plans. I definitely told you about this,” you’re still mighty impressed by how amicable you sound, so you decide to go and run with it.

“Where are you, please just tell me where you are so I can come get you,  _please_.”

“Why, did I forget something at home?”

“Please don’t do this, just tell me.”

“I don’t think I forgot anything,” you pretend to fumble through your purse and your bag, and surely enough you’ve got everything to avoid him till at least tomorrow. 

“Oh!” you sit up suddenly and look down at the backs of your hands. “My ring.”

He stops talking just then. Only for a moment, but the silence speaks volumes. The only ring you could be talking about is the ring he gave you a year ago, the one he promised you his heart with. “God, I have no idea where it could be,” you lean back on your seat.

“I-I’ll find it,” he says hurriedly, “I’ll l-look for it.”

You sigh. “It could be anywhere. I’d even check the trash,” those last words were too bitter, and even Jonghyun shoots you a curious look. “Don’t worry about it,” you add, and fill in with a laugh when Jinki doesn’t respond, “it’ll show up somewhere. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” and you hang up.

He’ll probably turn the apartment upside down looking for it, yet the champagne gold band is still sitting comfortably in your left hand, and it feels like the its tiny studs stare back at you with something caught between sadness and innocence. It’s reassuring.

“Is everything okay?” Jonghyun asks, holding out his hand for you to place his phone on.

“Yeah,” you lie quickly, effortlessly managing to set his phone on silent before it falls on his palm.

“These guys are really, really good,” you perk up, and Jonghyun nods back at you with a knowing smile.

“I told you,” he smirks, and turns the volume up a little after setting his phone down, and he doesn’t realise when Kibum starts calling.

You shamelessly watch the missed calls increase, distracting Jonghyun by singing and dancing loudly and helping him forget about work and his colleagues. It’s only for his own good.

Beenzino starts to blast moments later, and Jonghyun turns it up even louder. While not his usual kind of music to drive to, you’re grinning from ear to ear and he’d hate to give you a reason to frown. It looks like something’s up, your tone was too passive-aggressive earlier, but you don’t like it when he pries, so he decides he’ll wait until you’re a few glasses of wine in to ask. He already saw Kibum’s name flash on his phone screen, and he saw Taemin’s flash on yours earlier, and he noticed how you tensed every time your eyes jumped to it. Something’s definitely up. He glances up at your face then, and you’re really genuinely smiling, so it’s not too hard to forget and refocus on the road.

You take over the music soon enough, just like he knew you would eventually, and the first song you choose surprises him.

“I didn’t know you liked this song,” his neck feels warm, he’s probably blushing, like he always does whenever his friends play one of his compositions.

“Did I never tell you? I listen to this song all the time,” you grin. “It’s not my favourite of yours, but it’s so good I wish I had recorded it instead.” 

 _A Gloomy Clock_  was one of his favoruites, too, and he watches you sing along with amusement. You plead him to sing his own parts, and he can really only laugh and yield.

He wishes you weren’t such a great liar.

 

_>[ l](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DIC4PLAp0xK4&t=NTY4MzQxZWRiMGY3OTY5OTE5ODYxYzdiNjZiNjRhNTQ4NzgxNjY4YSxvZ1dlS05XWQ%3D%3D&b=t%3AcXtpvFymmD9Dd4fNv0MUqQ&p=https%3A%2F%2Fhitchhikingbabeh.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F125331866343%2Flimerence-m&m=1)osing touch by holding on_

The sky is the most beautiful shade of violet when Jonghyun backs up to the sand to park. There’s still a bit of sun even though it’s nearly 8PM, it looks like it’s ten minutes before it officially clocks out, so you set down the blankets, three huge wax candles and a dozen little battery ones, the basket and the wine in record time to catch the last strip of the sunset.

Your glasses are clinking together when the first bunches of stars start to shine through, and it’s nothing short of perfect. Jonghyun stands up to get to the car, which is really only about twenty five feet away, to retrieve the smaller, less important things now that there’s no rush. His phone screen makes him wince a little bit, because getting more than five missed calls from Kibum surely means that he’ll get one hell of an earful when he sees him at work. Then he turns on your phone, and winces a bit harder because you have seventeen voicemails and forty text messages.

He almost doesn’t want to know what’s going on.

You don’t ask anything when he hands you your bags and device, and he retakes his seat and his glass. Your eyes are glued to the sky for a little bit, because this kind of scenery always gets your gears spinning, and soon enough you’re lying on your back. The air smells like the sea, like home, and you can feel the warmth of the sand even through the blanket. 

“Jonghyun,” and he hums in response, “let’s go dance later.”

An odd request, especially coming from you. “We could find a place, any place, and take over the DJ booth.”

The way he calls your name makes you frown. It sounds like he’s about to cross territory you’d rather leave untouched, so you sit up and prepare for the worst. 

“What’s going on?” he asks in the same somber, stern tone. You take a generous sip of your wine then, because this was bound to happen.

“Nothing, just… ” you trail off, but Jonghyun’s eyes are pressing you to keep talking, and you think of what to say.

You’re fine. In the grand scale of reactions to breakups caused by infidelity, you’re pretty damn fine. You’ve been smiling, laughing, pretending that it didn’t happen all day. So surely you can come up with a way to tell Jonghyun while maintaining the same guise.

Sadly, you’ve never been that strong.

You didn’t think the tears would come so quickly. When you meet Jonghyun’s eyes, it all starts to dawn on you again. 

“I just caught Jinki, he was… he was…” you don’t want to say it, you can’t say it, because Jinki is sunshine and rainbows and everything that makes everyone smile, he’s not the man you saw earlier, he’s not— _he’s Jinki_.

“Jinki cheated on me.”

Jonghyun almost drops his glass.

“ _He what_?”

His heart starts to race when you start to sob outright, and his jaw clenches as he watches you fade. He’s never seen you this broken, this dull. Jinki wouldn’t, he wouldn’t take that away from you. Jinki’s mischievous but not cruel, never this cruel. And Jonghyun knows you don’t like it when people give you affection when you’re this upset, but he can’t stop himself from pulling you against him. You wrestle against his grip but he wraps his arms securely around your waist and you have no choice but to grab fistfuls of his pressed shirt and let loose.

Jonghyun’s phone starts to ring while he’s still rubbing circles into your back, and doesn’t think twice about picking up when he sees it’s Taemin. If something of this scale actually just happened, Jinki would naturally go to Taemin first. 

“Yeah?” his voice is thick even though you’re the one who’s in pain. He distances the phone from his ear a little bit then, because it’s Jinki, and he’s screaming about him not picking up the first five thousand calls and if he had any idea how worried the team has been.

“We both know that’s not what this is about,” Jonghyun responds calmly, and he rests his chin on top of your head and pulls you closer.

Jinki yells some more, this time about your play dates and how he never knew you had those kinds of outings and if he had any decency as a member, ending with the questions ‘where are you’ and ‘is she still with you’ worded in about ten different ways.

“She’s with me. That’s all you need to know,” Jonghyun’s voice is level now because he doesn’t want to be mad at Jinki but he’s making it particularly hard. “Please stop calling, hyung. Just stop, it’s hurting her more.”

He places the phone on the blanket, face down. Out of sight, out of mind. He doesn’t ask you for the full story, he knows you don’t want to tell it, and settles for just holding you until he doesn’t have to anymore.

Even when the sobs turn into hiccups you don’t want to open your eyes, don’t want to face anything. Jonghyun’s chest gives you wonderful warmth, but you’re more fond of how it covers you from what’s around you. You’ve always thought of Jonghyun as a shield, he’s always protected you from the little things and the big ones, too, and right now he’s doing a wonderful job of owning up to it all.

“You’re wonderful,” you say, settling your chin on his shoulder and blinking away the haziness. “I mean it,” you add when his chest vibrates along with his laughter.

“I’m fucking stupid,” Jonghyun argues, “I should’ve noticed when you got in the car. And here we are, in the most romantic setting you can arrange in less than ten minutes when you’re feeling as romantic as a math textbook.”

“Hey, some people might find math textbooks romantic. Even sexy, people are weird like that,” you argue playfully, pulling yourself back and settling in front of him. “Let’s just drink this wine, eat some fucking grapes and brie and find a club, okay?”

How the hell is he supposed to say no? You both seal the deal with a handshake, and Jonghyun goes as far as pressing his lips against your knuckles. It’s the closest thing he can get to an  _I’m sorry this is happening to you_  right now.

“I actually know a place,” he smiles a bit wider, already swept off his feet because you’re that charming, and that’s why everyone always wants you around. A phone call and a few more glasses of wine later, bottle one is done and you’re giggling about how you just noticed that he has makeup on.

“I’m an idol first,” he defends, “who knows if someone’s out there lurking with a camera? If I’m going to have a scandal, I’d better look good for it.”

He doesn’t look so smug when the look in your eyes turns a little too warm. You’re looking at him funny, you never look at anyone with this much affection. It’s misleading. “What?” he asks cuttingly to make you snap out of it.

“Nothing,” you laugh, “you’re just… awesome.”

“Already getting cheesy, are we?” he teases, even though he’s pretty woozy himself, and almost wants to bask in the attention. Your eyes narrow sourly at his.

“Just drink your wine,” you smile before looking away from him entirely. “Can’t even take a compliment,” you mumble, pursing your lips at the waves crashing in front of you.

“You’re cute.”

It’s misleading.

“Shut up.”

“Don’t wanna~” he even sticks his tongue out at you before taking a sip of his wine.

“Where is this place you know about? Can we walk there?” you quickly shift the subject, and since it is a pivotal matter, Jonghyun lets you off with a stern look.

“A friend owns this hotel twenty minutes away from here, and it has a great night club, loungey combo place. It’s one of the best ones I’ve ever been to,” he shares excitedly, “and since we’re already spending the night here, might as well have it be somewhere nice.” It’s only logical.

“We’ll just take a cab there, I’ll figure out what to do with my car later.”

The smile you shoot him is really cute. It’s misleading.

“You’re pretty cool,” you raise your glass in his direction, “I’m impressed. I never pegged you as the adventurous kind of person. I’d only ever known—” you stop here. You’d only ever known these kinds of whimsical getaways to be equaled with Jinki, because you’d gone on so many in two years. “You’re just great.”

He doesn’t react to your initial slip-up, but makes a face of exaggerated pride and refills your wineglass.

 “You’re winning a lot of brownie points tonight,” he says with evident mischief, “we should drink more often.”

“We would, if you ever took a day off,” you scoff, taking another sip of wine because this Merlot is definitely better than whatever you’d had first.

“I’ll do it. Take a day off. Let’s do it.”

You narrow your eyes and point a coy finger at him, “I like the sound of that, but if even one person recognises you out here, there’ll be a thousand reporters in the lobby tomorrow morning.”

Jonghyun pouts, you do have a point. “I’ll be careful.”

“Jjong, look at you,” you chuckle, “anyone can tell that you’re a celebrity. You’re always dressed to the tops and looking stupidly flawless.”

“More brownie points. We’ll pull it off somehow. And if we don’t, hey, Jinki’ll be pissed.”

“Small consolation.”

A laugh escapes him, but he doesn’t push the subject any longer.

By the time it hits ten, the air is pretty cold and the wine glasses are empty. Jonghyun is laughing at you because you all but burrito yourself into the blanket that was supposed to serve as your seat and nearly knock over two of the wax candles.

“We should go soon,” he suggests, and it takes you a few seconds to process what he’s saying because he’s slurring a little bit.

“I have to go change,” you mumble into the blanket, and Jonghyun approaches you with a smirk.

“What, oi, what are you doing?”

Jonghyun is unfolding you in the least affectionate way, pushing your hip bones to keep you rolling, but you can’t stop laughing because it must look pretty comical to anyone who walks past.

“I’m going, I’m going!” eventually you get up, grabbing your bag and walking towards the car.

“Will you be okay?” he asks with some concern, and you wave a carefree hand at him.

“I’ll be fine. Trust in me and my top notch sense. You go and figure out what to do about the car.”

You meant business. Jonghyun’s on the phone with Minsoo, a friend he’d made while promoting  _Dream Girl_ , and he can’t help but shoot you a thumbs up when you reappear in a lavender maxi dress and in simple but eye-catching make-up. It looks like something out of a runway, silky fabric floating in the wind and everything. He continues to nod even when he notices the cutaways on the skirt as you walk closer to him, and he finds he doesn’t mind that the whole of your pretty legs are exposed when you walk, but then he shakes himself back into his phone conversation because Jinki would be fuming if—

_Don’t go there._

Meanwhile, you’ve started to clean up, collecting trash and folding the blanket, moving everything to the car. You actually don’t remember having picked this dress in your frantic exit from your apartment earlier, but you’re kind of grateful because even from what little evidence you can see reflected in the windows of Jonghyun’s car, you look different.

It’s not bad, but it doesn’t feel that great either.

You look…  _single_.

A refreshing sight.

Jonghyun starts to call out to you then. “I’m ready to go if you are, I’ve seen like ten cabs in the past five minutes,” he starts, nearing you to look at his reflection too. “Oh, yeah, and let’s find an outlet store somewhere and get me super normal clothes tomorrow so we can go on an adventure.”

“Even then you’ll look like a celebrity.”

“Why do you keep saying that?”

“You’re like Korean Alex Turner.”

“You must be pretty drunk,” Jonghyun quips as he pushes his bangs up and away from his face. “Don’t you always say that he’s the idealest type of guy, husband material regardless of your current relationship status or whatever?”

“Just take the compliment, for fuck’s sake.”

He sighs. “Got everything?”

You double-check your purse, which includes lip stain, money and your phone, and you decide you don’t need much else. “Looks like.”

“Okay so here’s the plan,” he starts, taking out all of your luggage and a duffel bag you didn’t know he even kept from his trunk. 

“What, I live on the road, don’t you know?” he snaps at your raised eyebrows before moving on with his explanation, which consists of taking a cab to the hotel, checking in (because Jonghyun already booked a room and got the address to the place’s back entrance) and immediately moving on to the club, called Gaia or something painfully hipster like that as he changes his t-shirt to a pressed one and takes out a leather jacket.

You get distracted at the sight of his six pack, and he winks at you.

 _Asshole_ , you scoff, but you’re smiling anyway.

“What about the car?”

“Sorted. Let’s go,” here he pulls on your arm and you walk toward the road, and surely enough you’re well on your way less than two minutes later. The cab driver doesn’t recognise Jonghyun, which you are really glad for, and the journey is quiet. You roll the windows down because the wine has made you awfully warm and for some reason even sitting next to Jonghyun is making your neck burn.

The night breeze is very welcome, and you lean against the door and close your eyes.

You wonder what Jinki might be doing right now. You wonder if he’s in pain, or if he’s relieved, and you consider if either possibility makes you happy.

Is it cruel of you to think he should be suffering at least a little bit? Not because you are, but just out of respect for the commitment you held on to for so long?

Can you even say that though? God only knows if he’d cheated for months, if it was even the first time he’d done it.

You really don’t want to know.

“Stop thinking,” Jonghyun is grabbing your shoulder and pulling you closer to him.

“Let’s get more drunk.”

“That’s the spirit.”

 

_>  [l](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3D6vopR3ys8Kw&t=NWZmYjQxOTA2NjdiMmM5MmU4NzY0NGFiMmIyNTVmNmI3YzRjZmE0ZSxvZ1dlS05XWQ%3D%3D&b=t%3AcXtpvFymmD9Dd4fNv0MUqQ&p=https%3A%2F%2Fhitchhikingbabeh.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F125331866343%2Flimerence-m&m=1)isten, you are my sun_

You’re surprised at the ambience of the place. It’s swanky, classier than you’d expected. Blue strobe lights are sweeping every wall, tinted black and reflecting only a glare of the light. It smells like any club in the summer, like cooling sweat mixed with perfumes and colognes of all sorts, like musk and recklessness.

Minsoo’s a great guy, and he introduces you to another few of his friends before leading you all to the DJ booth, where an array of liquor bottles are lined up with glasses and chasers. 

“Drink lots and have fun, God knows you fucking need it,” he tells Jonghyun, only half-joking. “Security’s really tight here, if someone so much as looks at you for too long, our guys will cover it. I think you’ll be fine, but it’s just to be safe.”

It’s reassuring. Jonghyun has really good judge of character, and it always surprises you to meet his close friends because they have as much depth as he does, even on the first meeting. Then you meet the resident DJ, whose energy is just as great, and it takes only a few words from Jonghyun for you both to be allowed 15 minutes in the booth each tonight.

“We promise we know what we’re doing,” Jonghyun clarifies, but the DJ doesn’t need much convincing because he answers by calling Jonghyun a ‘world star’, with a carefree wave of the hand, and says something about ‘Sooman’s kids’ being able to do anything. 

“Let’s have a few drinks first, though,” you suggest, and it’s moments till Minsoo’s mixing vodka with lime and ginger and bourbon. He hands you the first bourbon concoction and you toast to his success before the liquor burns the back of your throat.

You usually don’t like to mix, it’s never been a good idea in the past, but you can’t force yourself to give a single fuck at the moment. It’s not that you want to pretend this whole day started when you got in Jonghyun’s car, but wouldn’t mind doing so for a few hours. Jonghyun watches you cautiously, probably because he’s not sure how to act around you, can’t predict any of your movements. You’re too calm, and he can’t quite figure out when you’ll turn into a full blown storm.

It’ll probably be when Jinki gets here.

He can’t even feel guilty, because it was his duty as a friend and co-worker to text Kibum where you are, though not without considering that you’d at least have the four hours it’d take him to get here to do whatever you want. It’s only natural that Kibum brings Jinki along, because, well, someone has to drive Jonghyun’s car. The way he sees it, Kibum might even bring his car to the hotel and tag along on the ride, though he’s not sure if he’ll do it because he wants to protect you or if he wants to protect Jinki. One can never know with Kim Kibum. Just then he gets a text from the very man, saying that it’ll be about an hour till they get there, and Jonghyun sighs, taking a hefty sip of his vodka before sauntering over to you.

As the euphoria settles into your bloodstream, you move away from the DJ booth to get closer to the now jam-packed dance floor. Seeing fogged up glasses in the air and the occasional lit tip of a cigarette makes you a little warm inside. Everything looks especially pretty when you’re drunk. The group of girls in little black dresses and fantastic hair in the corner of the bar are squealing and dancing energetically to the song the DJ just brought in, and you look over to the glass clad booth and can’t help but smile. The DJ looks pretty cute from here too, especially because he’s almost incapable of controlling his own body as he fumbles around the soundboard. You notice how he scrunches up his nose when he winds the beat and jumps keys, and you end up flat out cackling at him from your little spot.

“Having fun?”

Jonghyun looks really at home in this lighting and in this outfit, but you know he’s not, not entirely. He always looks like a rockstar, even when he goes out to get coffee, and yet he only feels like Jonghyun when there are at least three scented candles lit around a dark room, when it’s really cold or really warm outside. 

“We’re almost up, you’d better not go too far,” he goes on, and you shoot him a mischievous smile.

“Let’s go dance for a while,” you propose, and he gives you a cautious side-eye.

“I think you’re forgetting my profession.”

“I’m really not. Just for like, ten minutes! Let’s go, let’s bring security or something, I really want to dance, Jjong.”

He doesn’t seem swayed just yet.

“Just one song. One song? One song,” you plead, smile spreading with each repetition of your request, and his smile widens every time you bat your pretty eyelashes at him.

“You’re terrible,” he says, but still lets you take his arm and drag him towards the dance floor. He makes eye-contact with the burly guys that had been introduced as the heads of security, and they shoot him a nod of acknowledgement as they descend to the ground floor.

One song turns to two songs, which end up being five or six, but you’re absorbing so much good energy from the warm bodies around you that you can’t help but want to count every breath and hope that this raw adrenaline fuels you forever. Anyone around you can tell, too, how your eyes are glazed over when the strobes swipe past you, how content you are to be where you are. Even though the air is so dense and so uncomfortably warm that most people would rather stand by the bar to avoid shortness of breath, you look like you’re in your natural habitat, right here in the thick of the crowd.

Jonghyun feels intoxicated to say the least. He’s suddenly so anxious, so hyper aware of you while he tries to look out for second glances from the countless people around you that it’s scrambling his head and his heart. He’s getting reeled in, and he saw it coming from the moment you texted him this afternoon, and he’s not sure how to stop whatever it is that you’re setting in motion. When he tries to hold your shoulder to steady you, he ends up pulling you closer to him. He’s surprised when you respond to the contact by shooting him the most dazzling smile he’s ever seen.

_Fuck._

Then you dance around him and around other people, too, because your aura is contagious and it seems he’s not the only person who wants to inhale as much of your air as possible. Now he’s so nervous about how he thinks the rest of the night is going to turn out, because he’s asked himself five times  _why, why did Jinki do this to you, why you of all people, when you radiate like this_. There are a trillion  _what ifs_  circling through his already corrupted head, what if he did reach a hand out to you, what if he beat Jinki to a fucking pulp the moment he walks through the entrance, what if he just takes you away and avoids the confrontation all together?

There’s not much more time to consider all of these questions, because moments later the heads of security are signaling them and pointing to the DJ booth, and he guesses it’s time to go up. He looks over at you, still very much in your element, and he can see your mind spinning. He grabs you by the wrist and pulls you along with him without much resistance, and when you realise where you’re headed, you straighten your back and pick up your step.

“I’ve come up with, like, twenty more songs that I could add to the live mix,” you start when you reach the upper floor, it’s a bit quieter here.

“We only have thirty minutes, don’t get too excited,” he laughs a bit more shamelessly, and Minsoo is catching up to you and rushing you up to the booth. The resident is already setting up what you’d prepared earlier, and he gives both of you ample space to accommodate as he starts the last leg of his mix.

This isn’t the biggest booth you’ve worked on, but every time you encounter a new system it takes you a bit of time to adjust, so you let your hands feel around the mixers, and your instinct works to your advantage so that you find all of the essentials in no time. Jonghyun is on the audio mixer opposite yours, and he doesn’t need to prepare too much beyond giving the equipment a quick read. He even heaves out a relieved sigh, this setting is really comfortable. 

“I’m going to open,” he calls when the resident DJ fades out of his final bit. There’s no sign of protest, and just then the young man pats both of you in the back before heading out of the booth, probably with a mission to down a litre of water or of beer. Or both.

Your eyes are really playful when they meet Jonghyun’s. “Are we going to face-off?” you ask curiously, because this was not a part of the initial plan.

“Are you afraid?”

“Bring it.”

He starts easy, with something acidy and uptempo and easy to fist bump to. You think he’s taking you lightly, but you enjoy the first few minutes genuinely, and perk up some more when Minsoo swings by with a refill on your drinks. He moves on to something much more energetic, and you watch as the crowd starts to look up at the booth, because this is something quite different from what had been played so far in the night, or otherwise going berserk. Little crowds all over the place start to jump in unison, and you’ve got to hand it to your partner because he can really come up with some amazing music in just a few minutes. He winds the beat back around, and in seconds restructures the entirety of [E](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DVYwMmDkRCEo&t=MmYzYzBkMGQ5NTM1ZThhZWM3ZDMxNmIzMGEwNDkwN2E2NGQwMmJjMixvZ1dlS05XWQ%3D%3D&b=t%3AcXtpvFymmD9Dd4fNv0MUqQ&p=https%3A%2F%2Fhitchhikingbabeh.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F125331866343%2Flimerence-m&m=1)at, Sleep, Rave, Repeat so that even you’re screaming because  _damn_. How the hell are you going to one up this?

You see it coming when he nudges your shoulder to tell you you’re up, and you bite your lower lip with curious confidence as you pull up your own selection. Your first mission is to ensnare the last beat he brought in, and it’s not long till the music is growing more muffled by the second. Then you take over the tempo, and you bring it down, down, further down. When you look over to the ground floor, you can see body waves everywhere and it’s exactly what you were going for, and you feel tickles in your stomach because they have no idea where you’re going to take this.

Until a vaguely familiar melody starts to echo through.

Jonghyun screams behind you, not in a manly way but like he does whenever something makes him extremely happy. 

“You did  _not_! You did not just bring [t](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DTHMGdN7BjbY&t=YjE1MWUyYTFmMjJlY2MwNWI2YzI4MDU4ZjYxMTRjMmM3NzgyYzBmMCxvZ1dlS05XWQ%3D%3D&b=t%3AcXtpvFymmD9Dd4fNv0MUqQ&p=https%3A%2F%2Fhitchhikingbabeh.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F125331866343%2Flimerence-m&m=1)hat in!” you’re laughing and letting the vocal track trickle in, even going as far as dancing and singing along. You let the build up linger for a bit longer than you should have, and raise your arms up. The people in front of you do the same, and when you drop the beat, Jonghyun screams again.

Little does he know you’ve only gotten started.

You move on to a mix of [T](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DnlYbDjwBe2Y&t=ZDEzMjcwMzUwYzY3ZDgxMmVhNDIxYzA2NjNiZGNhZjM5Y2RkYjI3MCxvZ1dlS05XWQ%3D%3D&b=t%3AcXtpvFymmD9Dd4fNv0MUqQ&p=https%3A%2F%2Fhitchhikingbabeh.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F125331866343%2Flimerence-m&m=1)ove Lo’s latest, because it’s always good to go with crowd pleasers in the middle, and your partner is in the middle of both jumping and preparing his next set, and you fade the song out eventually to settle into a more chilled out mix of Disclosure before Jonghyun takes over again.

The way he starts off is a bit lazy, but only because the original mix of the [s](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DYqeW9_5kURI&t=ZjY5ZWQ1M2UwY2IxNzczOTE0OGNmMTE2OWM0MjdlYmMwYjJmYzYwMyxvZ1dlS05XWQ%3D%3D&b=t%3AcXtpvFymmD9Dd4fNv0MUqQ&p=https%3A%2F%2Fhitchhikingbabeh.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F125331866343%2Flimerence-m&m=1)ong is so good that you don’t mind, and you’re sure the rest of the crowd don’t either. Then he brings in some pretty big guns, and creates a mash-up of two of the most popular songs in the charts.

And then, as is expected of him, he brings out his group’s newest b-side single.

It’s hilarious because it fits the mood almost too well.

 _You’ve come a long ass way since Ring Ding Dong, Kim Jonghyun,_  you think to yourself with a chuckle, and like he can hear you, he turns his head in your direction. 

“Why are you not dancing? This is my song, dance!” so you comply, and he considers bringing out his phone and taking pictures of you while the chorus plays out. He doesn’t obviously, because the last thing he wants to do right now is check his phone, the time, any new texts, calls…

He ushers you to the centre of the soundboard, and you don’t notice the slightly sullen look in his eyes.

“You have the last leg,” he tells you, and you nod with understanding before asking him to get you another drink. “I can’t believe you can still drink!” he yells before he goes off, and you ride the end of his song watching the crowd sing and dance.

Jonghyun comes back in the middle of your second mix, and you know it took him forever because there was probably no more liquor in the booth and he may have gone to the main bar, which from where you are, looks impenetrable.

He found a way, though, and you take a hefty sip of the stuff the moment he hands it to you. Halsey’s blasting through the club at one hundred and twenty beats per minute and it’s hard to tell if you’re enjoying this more or if the crowd is, but you’re jumping and they are, too, and for a second you’re worried you might break any of the equipment. 

“You’re pretty good!” the resident DJ exclaims when he comes around, “I might even ask you to come more often,” he adds, but this is four hours away from home and unless they give you free boarding for those weekends, there’s no way you could work with this lifestyle.

Yet there’s a part of you that wants to entertain the idea. It sounds like fun, a serious load of fun, so you tell him you’ll think about it before you turn to read the crowd once again. You can relate to the look on most of their faces, it tells you that it’s the time of the night when eyelids are heavy, not because of lethargy, but because their bodies are consuming too much, very quickly, and you decide right there and then that this is your kind of crowd, this is your kind of night, and this is exactly where you want to be right now.

The audio mixer is being manipulated by your hands but they seem to move at their own accord. You’re trying to match everything you’re seeing, hearing and feeling with the equipment, and it’s receiving you quite well, and it takes a look over your shoulder and a glance at Jonghyun, who’s watching you closely with the wickedest kind of smile for you to find exactly what you’re going to do.

Jonghyun’s nodding along to the rhythm of the music, but as the mood shifts, his movements slow down a little bit, and it’s like the strobe lights can feel for what’s coming because they dim out and flash back really slowly, and the [f](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DH0bfwEjdgQs&t=NmM5NTQyNjEyNGI3Y2ExYzk5M2YwMGZhMWExNmNhYWUyMjVlMzkyYSxvZ1dlS05XWQ%3D%3D&b=t%3AcXtpvFymmD9Dd4fNv0MUqQ&p=https%3A%2F%2Fhitchhikingbabeh.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F125331866343%2Flimerence-m&m=1)inal song of your mix starts to blast. It’s thick, it makes the air a little heavier, the drinks a little cooler, and movement a little slower, a little harder.

“Holy shit,” is all he can say, really. “ _Holy shit_.”

The cursing continues as the singer echoes in and  _fuck_ , you’ve really done it now. The song gives him dumb ideas that he doesn’t think twice about, and in seconds he’s behind you with his arms around your waist and swaying along. You laugh because this was only expected, you did say you’d be prepared. 

“That’s it! I give up!” you can barely hear him because you’ve only got a bit of your ear outside the headphones.

“I could kiss you!”

You have to double take. And you stare at him for too long, but you don’t know what to say. Then you do.

“I dare you.”

 

_>  [t](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DaP_-P_BS6KY&t=ZGZhNDdhYmQxZmZiZWJkMWM0OGJlZTM3YzY5ZTBhNmMzNTUyMzZmZixvZ1dlS05XWQ%3D%3D&b=t%3AcXtpvFymmD9Dd4fNv0MUqQ&p=https%3A%2F%2Fhitchhikingbabeh.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F125331866343%2Flimerence-m&m=1)alk is cheap, my darling_

Jinki’s hands are shaking as he walks toward this Gaia club. He can hear the music from outside, and it looks like a pretty good night judging by how high the bass is cranked. Kibum shoots him occasional glances to make sure the dark haired young man keeps his actions in check, but he’s not sure how much longer that’s going to last.

Secretly he’s jittery, too, because he knows you when you’re mad, and it’s not going to be pretty for Jinki. He also knows that Jonghyun is… easily swayed into energies like yours, he’s drawn to them, and he’s got half a mind to play along with you.

The club is crowded, thank God. They don’t have a hard time getting around, and their eyes instantly begin to scan around the crowd for your faces. It takes longer than it should, and at one point Jinki’s just standing at the edge of the bar squinting eyes at every face in his field of vision. It doesn’t seem like you’re here at all, he would’ve recognised the platinum blond of Jjong’s head by now.

He’s enjoying the song that’s playing, it’s actually very much like you. In fact, he’s sure he’s heard it before somewhere, maybe in the car or while you were getting ready to go out one night. The DJ’s pretty decent, he muses with surprise and slight amusement. Unconsciously, his eyes move up to the upper level, where he can see the DJ booth, and—

Oh, there’s Jjong. And then he spots… you. He remembers when you bought that lavender dress, ages ago, though he’d never seen you wear it, and he can recognise the locks of your hair and your figure. Jonghyun’s arms are shamelessly around you, and you’re shamelessly smiling at him, and it makes him feel like there’s acid in his stomach.  _It’s probably not what you think_ , he tells himself, it can’t be what he’s thinking because you’re not a vengeful person.

Jonghyun tells you something, and when you turn your head Jinki can see your noses brush for half a second, and then you respond, and whatever you say makes Jonghyun’s entire body freeze. Your faces come even closer, so close Jinki thinks he might scream, until the tip of Jonghyun’s nose brushes up the bridge of yours and his hand snakes in around your neck and he presses a single kiss against your forehead.

It’s hard to breathe. Kibum approaches him and asks if he sees anything, but Jinki’s eyes are glued to the DJ booth and Kibum follows the line of sight before letting out a relieved sigh. He makes way to talk to the bartenders and security, and after a quick verification of their identities (the bartender knew him immediately), Minsoo gets called to the main bar. When the man arrives the greetings are tense, and Jinki doesn’t say a single word as the three ascend towards the upper floor.

“Is there a place where they could, you know, talk? Somewhere private and quiet?” Kibum asks as they enter the space, and Minsoo nods.

“There’s an empty VIP lounge right over there,” Minsoo kindly points, and Kibum immediately grabs Jinki’s arm and pushes him in that direction. It’s hard to piss off Kim Kibum, but Jinki’s certainly done it. Yet he’s so dumbly loyal to the elder that he can’t help but at least help him get a chance to fix his mess.

Jonghyun spots Kibum first, just after the latter’s deposited the main source of the problem in the VIP room. They greet each other with a brotherly hug and Kibum has to laugh at how drunk Jonghyun looks before throwing his car keys at him. 

“Your car’s parked in the hotel garage, and I brought you some clothes. Nice going with the keys,” Kibum snarls, and Jonghyun presses his palms against both of his friend’s cheeks and squeals.

Jonghyun stuffed his keys in a plastic bag and buried a hole in the sand by one of the tires of his car, and the silver haired man has to laugh when he remembers the way he knelt down and covered the hole back up so only a bit of the flimsy bag handles sprouted out. 

It kind of looked like a sand bunny.

So, really witty. Even for Jonghyun.

“You’re the best,” he adds, but Kibum just rolls his eyes.

“Whatever. How can we get her in that VIP lounge over there? They need to talk before they do any more stupid shit,” Key’s wholly honest voice is like a drink of cold water, and surprisingly it relaxes Jonghyun a bit.

“I’ll tell her. You should wait over there in case she tries to run,” Jonghyun’s going against all of his real desires in preference of settling things, because he won’t, he can’t get caught up with you right now. Can he? He can’t. He shouldn’t.

His footsteps toward you are surprisingly brave, and he confirms that the resident DJ is on the main floor at the bar before sneaking behind you as the last of No Less is fading out and an original mix of a pop [s](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DWpSwLbYJOrI&t=OGQyOTllMDU1NjNhODMxYWU5ZjI5MzEwZTA1YjQ5ZTA4NWQ1N2IxYixvZ1dlS05XWQ%3D%3D&b=t%3AcXtpvFymmD9Dd4fNv0MUqQ&p=https%3A%2F%2Fhitchhikingbabeh.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F125331866343%2Flimerence-m&m=1)ong filtres in.

“Hey,” he mouths in your ear, and you turn around with a smile, “the DJ wants to steal a few of your tricks, he’s in that lounge over there,” he points clearly, “I’m going to help set up for the headliner.” It makes perfect sense to you, and it’s not because you’re both wasted. You walk around the DJ booth and head over to the room without any second guesses, and the doorknob is cool on your palms and you think that while mixing is one of your favourite things to do, it’s a hell of a workout.

At first you only open the door a crack. You can see inside, it’s lit with cold, dull lights and it’s significantly cooler than the rest of the club. There’s liquor here, though, which you’re glad for because after that last set you’ll happily take one more drink.

And then you spot two heads of jet black hair.

The DJ’s blond.

This is not it. It’s not it, that looks like Kibum. It  _is_  Kibum. The other one looks like…  _fuck it’s Jinki_. It’s definitely Jinki and you are  _not_  going to deal with this right now.

You move to shut the door closed, but Kibum’s got his hands on the opposite knob, and he pulls it with such force that you basically tumble into the room. 

“Nice to see you, too,” he smirks when you look to him with big eyes. “I love you, and I’m sorry to have to do this but you guys need to talk. I’ll be outside.”

Just like that, he disappears, and you’re left awkwardly standing ten feet from a very calm looking Jinki. He certainly dressed up for this fight, and you want to slap yourself because you catch yourself looking up from his dark slacks to his fitted shirt and drifting. Those morning workout sessions with Minho must be paying off because his chest is quite deliciously wide. Being drunk around Jinki is the worst because you can’t really filtre your thoughts or control your facial expressions. Right now you wish you weren’t so blindly in love with him.

But that doesn’t mean you can’t take advantage of this trash can heart of yours.

“I thought you’d take longer,” you start off, holding your hands behind your back and walking towards him. He stands up as you draw near, looking very alert and honestly, quite apologetic.

“I’m really, really sorry about what happened, please let me─”

“Stop.”

He does.

In fact, he doesn’t even move as you approach him some more, but his eyebrows furrow when you let out a tired sigh. 

“Sit,” you order, and Jinki does so mechanically, and you sigh again. “I’m going to do something dumb now, and if you move a muscle I will bite your ear off.” You cautiously push the cutaways of your dress behind your thighs and straddle Jinki’s hips, though not for the reasons that he’s thinking. He’s not moving at all, probably because he’s scared of how unpredictable you’re being. Your arms snake around his neck and you look him in the eyes, and you hold the stare and brace yourself.

“I think I’m the most deplorable person on this planet,” your sentence ends with a grin, and Jinki’s not sure what to say. “I’m still trying to convince myself that what happened today was real. God, why did it have to be you?” your thumb is running up his cheekbones and brushing through his hair and Jinki’s eyes are starting to water. It makes you frown.

“Why did you do it? I’ve been thinking a lot about that. Was it because of convenience? We’re both pretty busy people, maybe you saw an out of that? Was it because of stress? Pressure? I can’t believe I’m fucking saying any of this, here I am, trying to make sense of what you did like it can be justified. Aren’t I pathetic?”

He can’t answer.

“I didn’t think it might be because of sex, to be honest, but it could be,” you go on, looking genuinely pensive, you really did consider it, “though I’ve always been such a slut for you.” You can’t help it, the way your hand stretches out to so you can outline his bottom lip with the tip of your thumb. “Always glad to get on my knees, on my back, on my side or however else you wanted me,” you can see how his eyes get hazy as he remembers and you feel spiteful and desirous and it makes you a little angry, “so I don’t think that’s it. Is it? Is that why you did it?”

“Don’t talk like that, don’t do that.”

“Was it fun? I’ll bet it was fun. Now that I think about it, it might be good for long term couples to do these things. Personally I’d love to take a chance to get some fresh air from this toxicity that you created, what do you think?”

“Will you let me explain?”

“Will you answer any of my questions? Wasn’t it thrilling? I’ll bet it was. Who is she, anyway? She’s pretty, I wonder if I’ve met her somewhere without knowing that you were fucking her on the side. She didn’t look like she knew you were taken. You’re pretty fucking awful, both of you,” your voice is laced with silken poison and it’s making him an angry kind of sad, and he wishes he would just break down and cry but he can’t even do that under your stony gaze.

“The setup doesn’t really make sense, you know,” you rejoin, “through it all, you were never good at sneaking around. Why did you bring her to our apartment? You could’ve easily gone to her place, or to some motel like normal people do, you could’ve even used the SM offices! It’s kind of kinky, you’ve always liked that sort of thing.” You’re actually laughing.

“Were you looking to get caught? It looks like you’ve come here to make sure that I dump you, like you can’t wait till tomorrow. I’m sorry, but I can’t even do that. Do you like her that much? Is there some true love story I don’t know about going on?”

“No!” he exclaims immediately, “I never loved her, I could  _never_ ─”

He’s really tearing up. There are actual tear stains on his face. You feel terrible and powerful at once.

“Should I try it, too?”

His eyes are wide open then, he looks terrified.

“Wouldn’t it be fair? Maybe I should try it. You should know what it feels like, too! See, if  _I’d_  ever had an issue with our relationship, I’d have brought it up over the phone, over dinner, over a quickie, anywhere, and I don’t understand how you’ve dragged it out till it got this far. Maybe you just did it once, maybe twice, I don’t care, but to be honest I think I should do it for myself. What do you say?”

Jinki’s not even trying to blink away the moisture in his eyes. There’s really no use. It’s making you choke up, but you’re not letting him get away with this.

“Let’s take a break.”

A break. His eyes look up at you, and they’re hopeful and devastated.

“You can keep seeing that girl, or you can not, I don’t even know if it’s the first time you’ve ever cheated but I don’t want to know, and I’ll go and sleep around with whomever I want and we can meet at some point and revisit any chance of getting back together. Isn’t that a good plan?”

He’s shaking his head.

“It’s not? You’re looking at me like I  _want_  to do this, Jinki. I don’t, I really don’t,” you’re laughing and caressing his cheeks again and wiping tear stains dry, not because you pity him or that you pity your situation. Nothing about your expression is a front. If anything, it’s a mirror.

You don’t want to do this. You don’t want to tell him how much power he has over you, how even in this moment you love him to the point of insanity and that’s why you keep trying to defend him even though he’s the one breaking you to pieces. “I’m willing to be civil with you because we’re civil people, but I’m going to ride the fuck out of this wave. You’re welcome to stay for the show.”

You make way to get out of the room, but Jinki’s hands quickly move around your hips to keep you in place, even pulling you slightly closer. “We’re not done,” he says, and his expression turns hard.

“Aren’t we?” you shift in his lap till you’re comfortable, and he hisses. It makes you smile. “I think I was pretty clear.”

He doesn’t say anything, but the look in his eyes is turning cloudy, and you smile a bit wider.

“What? You’re giving me naughty looks,” you smirk, “Why? Do you like me now?”

You scoot closer to him, so close his lips are a breath away from yours. 

“Should I give in?” your fingers are brushing his chin with intention to bring him closer, and you can’t help but grin at the way he so naturally leans in to your touch. “I really want to,” his eyes are fluttering shut and for a moment you seriously consider kissing him, because Jinki was once warmth and comfort and wonder, and somewhere in that head of yours, you think he still is.

But you raise your head and you pull yourself back.

“Hm. I don’t think so.”

And you get up, calmly gathering yourself before leaving the room.

Jinki’s mostly paralised, even when Kibum steps back into the room and sets a fat drink in front of him. 

“How did it go?”

“I cried. She asked for a break. Then she gave me a boner and left. Now I want to cry again.”

Kibum snorts. “You’re fucking pathetic. I love you, but you’re pathetic.”

“I need her back.”

Kibum snorts to himself, taking a quiet sip of his whiskey because sure, you are a bubbly girl who likes to wear pastel coloured dresses and winged eyeliner, but you’re independent and strong, too, underneath all of that. It’s always hilarious to watch you go about the most menial things because it’s always been so clear, you’re almost predictable but still always manage to surprise everyone with your wit, your spark. You have the soul of a virtue and the brain of a Greek fury. Kibum wouldn’t dream of fucking around when it comes to you, and he’s here to figure out why Jinki got brave enough to fuck with you at this level.

Turns out Jinki’s just an idiot.

“I’ll die if I don’t get her back, Kibum.”

Key can’t stop the laughter from flooding through his lips. “Do you want to be buried or cremated?”

 

_>[ i](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DjUoGYrWZXLs&t=ZmVkZDg0ODgwOGQ1Nzk0OTkxYWI5ZGZiY2QwOTE3NDI4ZTEwMWVmOCxvZ1dlS05XWQ%3D%3D&b=t%3AcXtpvFymmD9Dd4fNv0MUqQ&p=https%3A%2F%2Fhitchhikingbabeh.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F125331866343%2Flimerence-m&m=1)’m the ticking bomb and the detonator froze, and now you’re exposed._

Jonghyun’s waiting for you by the DJ booth, fresh bourbon in hand and a guilty look in his eyes. You don’t really want to argue with anyone, though, so you take the drink with a smile and take him by the arm to walk towards the ground floor, where you’re met with Minsoo, who’s rushing you back up to the upper level.

“Sorry, it looks like someone spotted you. There’s a group of people that have been trying to get a snapshot of you for a while,” he explains, and neither of you are surprised because three idols is way too large a celebrity ratio for people not to get suspicious. 

“There’s a back exit we can sneak you out through, oh and also,” Minsoo pulls a hand from his pocket, and he’s holding an elaborate keychain. “We have a few small villas besides the rooms in our hotel building, you might as well stay in one of those because they’re safe, closed off. We have people on patrol there 24/7.”

Jonghyun is nodding and patting Minsoo’s arm with affection. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” Minsoo jokes, “if you’re that grateful, please just take a rest every once in a while. And stop bleaching your hair, for fuck’s sake.”

It must have been at some point in that conversation with Minsoo that you lost your conscious self for a little bit. Everything starts to get blurry at this point. You remember grabbing Jonghyun’s arm and resting your chin on his shoulder, asking him for water five times as you exit the club. He makes magic and brings you three chilled bottles of the stuff, and you down the first one without even blinking. You remember asking him if he felt very drunk too, if he was going to be okay, and he answered with a smile and a nod every time.

“So yes you are very drunk or yes you’re going to be okay?” you’re walking along a beach now, you can’t remember when exactly you left the club or got driven away in a car but you’re certain both things did happen.

The sand is warm under your feet and the night breeze is brutal on your shoulders, and you look over them every chance you get to check on Kibum and Jinki. You still can’t believe both of them are here, still here. The truth is you want to be really mad at both of them for butting into your weekend, but as the alcohol percentage in your blood increases, your weaknesses start to shine through. 

The biggest one of them being the walking, talking rabbit-looking man behind you.

There’s no music playing, but you’re twirling and swaying along the shoreline, and the soft crashing of waves a few feet from you serves as a sort of voice of reason. Your mind feels less groggy and a bit more productive, so you find yourself capable of kneeling down and picking up bigger seashells, discarding the ugly ones and clutching the prettier ones in your hand. It makes you lag quite far behind the group, and you can hear Key calling out to you the first dozen times.

You ignore him.

Jjong’s voice rings through the strip of beach then, but you’re already sat in the sand marvelling over some clam shells you’d just spotted. He calls your name three times before you see him stomp bare feet in your direction. 

“What?” you call out innocently.

You start laughing when Jjong’s arms come around your waist, but you gasp when he throws you over his shoulder, effectively making all the shells in your hand fall and the rest of your body to flail in response. 

“Kim Jonghyun, put me down! Put me down!” you’re bringing down fists on the small of his back, and he’s laughing. He’s carrying you like you’re a bag of rice and you’re not all that appreciative.

“Jjong, please, I’ll be good, I’ll be good!”

Kibum steals glances at Jinki here and there, because he’s certain everything Jonghyun’s doing is provoking the elder, but Jinki looks perfectly level, and he thinks it’s because of whatever you told him when you were in that VIP lounge. Even though he now knows the reason why Jinki had done what he’d done, seeing Jonghyun dote on you so openly hurt.

“Do you promise?” Jjong’s voice is stern but still playful, and you whine with your mouth helplessly pressed against his shoulder blades. It seems to be enough convincing because in a split second your legs are wrapped around his hips and you’re tucked into the crook of his neck.

“We don’t have any more wine, do we?”

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Jonghyun chuckles, “you’ve drunk half your weight in alcohol tonight.”

“Have we never gone out before? I’m always the most sober one at the end of the night. Kibum, tell him,” you brag shamelessly, locking eyes with the cat-eyed beau and smirking. Kibum scowls at you but you blow him a kiss and he can’t help laughing.

“You do have a liver of steel for someone your age,” he offers, and you shoot him a grateful thumbs up, which becomes a pointing index finger soon after.

“You should get more alcohol,” you suggest, though quite sternly, and Kibum scoffs.

“It’s almost two in the morning, where would I possibly find more alcohol? We should get water. And some snacks, you’re going to be nursing the fuck out of a hangover tomorrow morning.”

That doesn’t sound so bad either, actually, and you nod pensively before grinning at him. 

“That’s a wonderful idea! I heard Minsoo say that there’s a mini-mart halfway through the beach, you should go and get water,” and Kibum’s rolling his eyes, you’re surprisingly bossy when you’re belligerent. “I’m going to go find a nice place to sober up,” and you nudge Jonghyun slightly, “maybe even watch the sunrise!”

“So you’re doing all of this pushing around to get me alone?” Jonghyun’s voice is hardly anything above a whisper, and you openly laugh at his words. Jinki’s eyes spring to yours in that exact moment, but you only hold his gaze for a moment before tapping Jonghyun’s back twice. 

“I can walk, you know,” you say, even though you’d much rather not use any of your limbs. But alas, you’re not that drunk.

“Are you going to run off and make us chase you around?”

You don’t give him an answer, but his arms loosen around you till your feet come into contact with the warm sand. It feels like the peak of the night, when the sky is its absolute darkest, and you can see a ridiculous amount of stars from where you’re standing right now. Why are you the only one who wants to take every inch of this in for as long as possible?

Maybe because it’s actually quite cold, what with being so close to the sea. Or maybe it’s because tonight is not the most comfortable of nights…

You shake the thought away as quickly as you can, and remind yourself that at least right now, you’re giving your back to Jinki in every sense.  _Don’t remember right now._

God, you wish you’d saved that second bottle of wine from earlier.

Eventually you can see the sea cottage numbered with a large, copper coloured nine, and you rush to the door after having nicked the keys from Key’s hand.

It’s beautiful, in a very quaint way.

Every piece of furniture is white, firstly. There are stray accents of teal and navy blue and just a splash of coral every now and then. The house smells like mahogany and the sea, and most of the rooms are separated by french doors. There’s a terrace with a dining table with a gorgeously simple view of the sea shore, and you can hear the waves crashing as clearly as you did from outside in here. The boys come in a while later, after having taken out your luggage from the car among other things. Kibum’s talking about actually going out to get some water and some toiletries, and he drags Jinki out of the house in order to do so while whining about doing the stupidest things for his friends.

Just as you hear the front door shut closed again, you move to open up the doors to the beach. It’s literally just a few dozen paces away, and in the stretch of those paces you can see a small wooden table with four accompanying chairs, a fire pit and a bunch palm trees, two of which have a hammock tied between them.  

Your whims had never taken you somewhere so beautiful before, and you feel especially alive, so without even thinking, you walk towards the hammock with intention to absorb as much of this amazing energy as possible. It’s really wide and really soft to the touch when you finally get to it, and you feel light as a feather when you swing a leg over it and lie down. After a few seconds a cool breeze starts to blow, and you wonder why you didn’t heed your own head earlier tonight and took your jacket from Jjong’s car. You anyways try to ignore it, and look up to the starry sky with a sigh.

“What are you doing out in the cold? You’re not even wearing shoes,” when you look over to the house you see Jonghyun approaching you with two bottles of water in hand, and you wonder where he got it from if the other two were supposed to be buying some. You can only guess he took a few before leaving the club.

“Don’t kill my vibe and just come here,” you say a bit cuttingly, and Jonghyun smirks as he hands you one of the bottles. You make room for him to lie next to you, and the moment your skin comes into contact with his, you feel both nervous and exhilarated.

That never happened before.

The hammock is larger than most, and it fits you both really nicely. The tightly woven fabric is soft against your bodies and surprisingly warm, and it kind of feels like you’re in a cocoon of the most comfortable kind.

You’re so aware suddenly, of the warmth of his skin and his scent, too, and it doesn’t make you uncomfortable in the least. It’s probably all the alcohol, and the last remnants of the high of performing, even though it was for such a short time. You’re both familiar with the feelings, but you’d never really shared them together, which is perhaps why you’re quiet as you take the first few sips of water.

“Let’s play a game.”

You turn to Jonghyun with furrowed eyebrows, surprised he has enough energy to be playful right now. 

“What kind of game?”

“Twenty questions. Honesty hour edition. Or just until the other two get back.”

“Okay,” you laugh, without really thinking, and Jonghyun moves to lay on his side to face you. The hammock swings a little harshly and it’s actually kind of funny, so you don’t hold back the chuckles climbing up your throat as he settles into a firm position again. “You start.”

He’d expected you to start, so he’s blank for a few seconds after he hears you. 

“Fine,” you yield, rolling your eyes, “I’ll start. I’m cold.”

“You’re boring.”

His eyes are narrowed at yours but he’s shuffling out of his leather jacket and draping it over you like a blanket, and you let out a conniving laugh that makes him shake his head with disapproval. After giving it some thought though, you realise he might get cold, and you decide to lay on his chest against your better judgement. His eyes tell you as much too, when you meet them again, and they warn you about breaching dangerous territory.

You don’t, can’t, truthfully, give a single fuck right now.

“Your turn.”

“I’m sorry about having sent you to that VIP room under false pretense.”

“What did I just say about killing my vibe?” you set both of your hands on his chest and rest your chin on them, avoiding his eyes for now because it really was something he shouldn’t have done. “I understand why you did it,” is all you have to say, and you force out all of the negative thoughts trying to break into your mind with a little shake of your head.

“I’m going to play for real now,” you warn, and Jonghyun smiles, emboldened. “Why are you still single, Kim Jonghyun?”

He can’t help but smile. “It’s not like I want to be single, it just so happens that I have been for a while.”

“But you must at least have someone.”

“I thought the rule was to ask one question at a time,” Jonghyun quickly reminds you, and you purse your lips, a little defeated. “On a scale of 1 to 10, how fucked up do you feel right now?”

“More than I should be but less than I want to be,” you answer clearly. “Why?”

“Because I want to be immature and ask you petty questions.”

You smirk, knowing the glint in his eyes means that he’s up to no good at all. “I’ll have to respond in kind, but alright. What do you want to know?”

“Everything. Why haven’t you punched him in the face yet?”

Your smile is a bit sardonic, as is the way that you shift just a smidgen farther from him.

“I wish I was angrier, too.” 

But you don’t want to talk about that. Jonghyun considers that your answer and looks at you expectantly, waiting for your next question. You wonder how you can shift the topic of conversation completely without being too obvious about it. When the wind blows particularly harshly and pushes some of your hair to your face, you find your answer in the way Jonghyun reaches out to tuck the strands behind your ears.

The point of the game is to find a question he can’t answer, right? You can certainly think up a few that’ll make him at least nervous.

“Have you ever wanted to fuck to the sound of your own music?”

He looks at you with wide eyes, and you burst out laughing. “Wha- I’ve never even—of course I haven’t—okay, maybe once.”

“Just once?”

“My turn,” Jonghyun sits up slightly with pure mischief in his eyes. “Have you ever wanted to fuck to the sound of  _my_  music?”

Damn.

“Yes.”

You probably shouldn’t have answered so quickly. But Jonghyun’s cheeks turn beet red, as do the tips of his ears, and it makes you laugh and the corners of your eyes burn. “Why are you so surprised?”

“I didn’t think you were the kind of person to… I didn’t know that you even,” he stops himself here, “I just didn’t expect it.” He searches your eyes for any additional daggers you might send his way, and surely enough you look like you have quite a few in store for him. And he really wants to play along.

“Which song?”

It’s your turn to blush, but you’re hellbent on winning this game and laugh a little bit more. “I don’t want to tell you. And it’s more than one.”

He’s so fucking curious. “Well, that’s not very fair, is it?”

You stick your tongue out at him. “It counts as an answer, so you’ll just have to take it. What if I give you a chance to guess?”

He really doesn’t think you’d admit it even if he did guess the right song, but he really wants to know. 

“I’ll find out my own way,” he says shamelessly and without blinking, and you can’t help the smile that takes over your features and your eyes narrow at his.

“So dangerous.”

“What is?”

“You are.”

“But you’re making me so curious,” he responds, and suddenly you feel a jolt through your entire body. This is probably not how you should be reacting to his words, but then again, he did start this.

“About what?”

The thought has been running around his head for months, only now it’s ten times as intense with your skin against him and your eyes never straying from his. What song would you really pick? Why? What made you think of the song, who made you think of the song? Every composition he’s ever released plays in his head all at once, and he tries to match at least one of them to you, to everything he knows about you and everything he’s ever assumed. It’s taking him a while to answer, but you seem perfectly content to watch the gears turning in his head, and it’s like you can tell that what’s about to happen can really only mean trouble.

“In that place, in that moment… what do you taste like? What do you feel like?”

You almost smile. He’s too good at this to not play along.

You hum at his nerve, and it seems every inhibition has evaporated from his entire being, and it fuels you to want to forget, to follow along in his game. “Shouldn’t I also let you find that out your own way?”

He sits up too quickly, but you expected it, and you shift in place until you’re comfortable and tuck his jacket closer to your body. You’re kind of angry about how cold it is where your bodies don’t touch.

“And how would I go about that?”

“Don’t answer my question with another one,” the look in your eyes is turning more mischievous by the second, and he’s so satisfied with how far he’s pushed you. He’s tempted to push it to the very limit, this is probably the only chance he’ll ever have of saying anything about how he feels.

He knows it’s inopportune, and that it may cost him a few bones down the line. He knows you’re vulnerable, confused, starved of affection, but he also knows you’re not weak. You wouldn’t let yourself get carried away by wishful thinking, or let yourself get brought down by sadness, or even madness. You’re not the kind of person to get carried away, you’re the kind of person to hypnotise, enchant others into following you, never the other way around.

But he’s also knows that you’re starting to get curious, too, and he feels slightly guilty about how everything is going exactly how he wants it to.

So he treads slowly. “Haven’t I been particularly forward tonight?” his hands are moving towards you, and the back of one of them grazes your cheek. “Haven’t I been obvious enough?”

“Are you mad I’ve been a little clueless?”

He scoffs. “You’re the opposite of clueless.”

For a moment you look almost offended, and Jonghyun’s eyes narrow. “Your body language speaks volumes, love.” He is lust and envy incarnate. “Is it bad that I don’t even care that he’s here?”

“Is that why you’re holding back? Because of him?”

And you are anger and pride. 

”Is it?” he repeats, and he’s grinning wider. 

How did you know he was? Maybe you did notice, that your relationship with him was always a little blurry, that you always wanted a little more from him than you did the rest of your friends, and that he always wanted a little more from you than warm smiles and late night talks.

“You’re asking like you think this is the first time I’ve noticed this… magnetism,” you’re fully aware of the boundaries you’re kicking down. He tries to control his expression, but he can tell you notice how he brightens, like he’s been waiting to watch all the walls crumble.

“Is it?”

“Not in the slightest.”

“I don’t believe you,” his words are surprisingly warm, though with a sharp edge, and something about them makes you a bit less daring. You let out a small sigh and look back to the water, swinging your legs so your feet touch the soft sand.

“Then don’t.”

You move with intention to get up, even though you can already feel Jonghyun’s hands on your arm. He doesn’t get a good grip, though, and you easily step away from him and weave a path back to the house among the palm trees.

It’s not at all like you don’t know exactly how this is going to go. You can feel him behind you before you hear him, and in seconds he has you pressed against one of the palm trees. The trunk is wide, but hard and rough on your skin just like you thought it would be, and Jonghyun’s looking at you with eyes full of need, of want, just like you knew they would be. You’re not sure what you feel as you look back into them, and you wonder what he sees that makes his arms slowly snake around you, that makes him move a little closer.

When he’s so close your noses are brushing, you get an idea or two of what he might be thinking.

Because he doesn’t move any further from there.

“Why do you have to make this so hard?” his lips are a breath away and you’re afraid of responding for fear of more temptation, “I can only deny you for so long.”

And yet, he wants  _you_  to close the remaining distance. He’s not saying it, but you know his thoughts are getting pushed around by every memory he’s ever shared with Lee Jinki, and it’s pretty fucking pathetic but even now he’s still a little uncertain about you, about him, about everything.

But he’s so curious.

And you’re so tempted.

The tips of your fingers curl over the buckle of his belt, just to tug him that much closer, and it takes him about two seconds to realise that this, too, is as far as you will go for this turn. He lets out a low, guttural growl and one of his hands moves to grab a fistful of your dress because it’s all he can do to keep himself together. You’re daring to smile even now, it feels like the both of you are merely counting down the seconds at this point.  

 _One_ , and your free hand is sorting the stray hairs on his face to their respective places.

 _Two_ , he does the same to you, only he wraps locks between his fingers and soothes them with his thumb, and he’s giving you a look that you’ve only seen when it’s very, very late and he’s thinking way too much.

 _Three_ , you start to chuckle because his stare is not faltering and you never know what to do when another pair of eyes try to cage yours, and the slight movement of your face may or may have not made your lips come into contact.

Kim Jonghyun is not a patient man.

He can see the entire cottage from here, and he can see the all too familiar silhouette of both of his teammates step into the house.

He almost wants them to see.

“God, I must really love that piece of trash,” he mutters in the lowest voice, leaning his forehead into yours and trying to breathe evenly. You can feel it now, in his whole aura, how despite everything you’ve put him through, every mixed signal and stolen glance, he’s resisted because of him, who hurt you, who doesn’t deserve you, at least not now. Just then you realise that he’s not doing any of this to spite Jinki, get revenge for breaking you to pieces, to wreck their friendship.

That’s all you.

So your trembling hands grab at the collar of his shirt, and they pull down. Jonghyun is scalding, and the heat of his skin sinks into the depths of your body. His lips taste like lime and vodka, which is what he was drinking at the club, but he feels like thrill, and you’re not sure if it’s because you had felt drained of it for so long that it pushes you to go further until you can fully snake your arms around his neck and pull him against you with purpose. He has the nerve to chuckle against your mouth, and the sound echoes inside you, and you’re starting to wonder what you were so afraid of because he is sin, and of the best kind. Your lips respond to his so well, so obediently that it surprises even you, this feeling is so addicting you really can’t blame yourself. There’s so much of him that’s heightened now, and you can see, or rather, feel, everything he never told you, but that deep down you knew.

His hand, which was already clutching the skirt of your dress, moves toward the cutaway and his rough palm is brushing the skin of your thigh until it curls under your knee to hike up over his hips. His fingers do not stop there, and they dance back up your thigh like licks of fire burning at your skin until they reach the curve of your ass.

That’s when he notices that there’s something missing, and he separates your lips to look you sternly in the eyes.

“Why is there nothing under here?”

That… is actually a great question. You sort through your brain to remember the exact reason, and you vaguely remember getting dressed in the Lambo and having the rear view mirror as your only aide. 

“It didn’t look as good with them on.”

Your panties must still be in his car.

You wonder if Kibum or Jinki might’ve seen them already.

“It’s like you were expecting this to happen.”

If you’d had the chance you’d have laughed, but Jonghyun’s other hand is sliding behind your neck so he can nip at your lips again, and he hums contentedly when one of your hands grips his wrist in response.

“You must think I’m a saint.”

“Aren’t you?” and there’s the coy voice he’s been dying to hear behind closed doors, surrounded by candlelight, under the stars and just everywhere other eyes couldn’t see.

“I’m a man first, love,” his arm is dropping from your neck and going around your hips, and he flattens his palm on the small of your back to push you forward and fully into his arms. “And I’m done with the stoic act.”

He’s still gentle, still probing; his hands are still searching for the fuse that he knows is going to set you off, and so is his mouth. He’s looking for the hidden parts of you in the kisses he presses behind your ear, against the curve of your jaw and down the bridge of your neck, until he reaches its crook and dares to bite.

You gasp, and your hands immediately move to grab at his hair, though your intentions are still blurred. He takes it as a sign of encouragement and you’re glad when his hips press closer against yours and he can tell when you stop a moan from passing through your throat. He didn’t expect you to hear you laugh then, though, and he continues to feather kisses over your collarbones before returning his eyes to your eyes and his lips to yours.

“Will you tell me?” you manage when you grab at his shirt to push him a mere inch away. He bites the corner of his lips when he catches your words, but he decides to play dumb anyway.

“Tell you what?”

“What I taste like.”

You cocky little thing. He just has to grin.

“How can you be asking me already?” he responds as you dig the ball of your foot into Jonghyun’s back to press him a little harder against you, and it makes his hand travel to your upper thighs and linger there. He taps and strokes at the skin very gently, and makes a point to trap your eyes with his. “I’ve got so much more to do.”

You’re suddenly so light-headed you find yourself letting your head fall back to hit the trunk of the palm tree. It’s only been a few minutes and there are already speckles of white in your vision.  This only allows Jonghyun to kiss his way between your collarbones and down your chest till he reaches the valley of your breasts, and eventually, your dress.

“Jong _hyun_ ,” the last syllable comes in mixed with a moan because he’s started to suck at the skin there, and the sound makes him chortle before soothing the mark. “Here?”

He smiles when he sees the sudden bashful look in your eyes, and he kisses the tip of your nose before nearing his mouth to your ear. 

“Don’t worry, love,” he whispers purposefully close to you and it tickles, “I know exactly what I’m doing.” You gasp and it’s dangerously close to his ear and he had never been so sensitive to a sound in his life. It gives him a little bit of courage as he sneaks a hand under your skirt through the cutaway.

“If you’ll let me.”

Your legs are cold because the ocean breeze hasn’t stopped blowing, and his hand is so warm against you, and he must notice, what with the way your lips tremble and how you get a tight grip on his shoulders. Unfortunately, it’s not enough confirmation for him, so he starts by only letting his knuckles brush your inner thighs. He lifts his gaze from your soft skin to your eyes with his tongue running past his lower lip, and he bites on it before slightly swaying you with his arms.

“Do you think I won’t do it?” he asks you, and it’d be amazing if you actually thought so. If you did, then you definitely thought he was a better man than he actually is.

“I dare you.”

He hums again, he really seems to like doing that, and your foreheads are touching and his fingertips are dancing closer to your core. 

“Such a clever little thing,” he whispers, and you can feel his breath on your moist lips. “You’d get away with murder, did you know that?”

Two of his fingers are inside of you before you can retort, and the way he starts to stretch you out makes you jump slightly. Your toes curl into the warm sand, still radiating with heat after the summer day, and this is not the ideal place to do this but fuck, it feels so good. Your arms are around his back when he starts to pump them in and out and you’re breathing hard in his ear. 

“You’re so pretty. So pretty and so good,” he praises before kissing into your neck. He’s been outside as long as you have and your skin feels like ice but he is somehow still on fire, and the friction of his skin against the exposed fragments of your own is delicious and right.

But this feels unfair, he’s not feeling as much as you are and you have to amend it somehow, so your hands land on his cheeks to guide him back to your lips, and it’s a mess of teeth and tongue that are somehow perfectly complementary until he sucks your upper lip between his teeth and his thumb traces a hard line against your clit.

He smiles when you moan into his mouth and your back arches, yearning for more of his skin against your own. All this time your leg has hung from his hips and every muscle is that much more tense and all the more sore. A third finger joins in to tease at your walls, and even now it’s snug and he can barely handle how hot and wet you are. He grunts when you start to unbutton his shirt so your hands can roam through his golden skin, and your mouth is watering at the sight of his clavicle, so you hurriedly press bites onto it without leaving marks. You can tell his resolve is crumbling by how much quicker his chest rises and falls, but then his fingers slow down and start to curl up into you, and you kick your head back and cover your mouth to stop yourself from making any more noise.

“I hate it when you’re quiet,” he chuckles, fingers never stilling, “can’t you scream for me?”

You whisper his name and let your eyes flutter closed because he’s not speeding up but the coil in the pit of your stomach is roaring with want.

“Say it again.”

You do, you repeat his name with his lips brushing yours and against his ear and his forehead and the crook of his neck, and when you give him a vengeful bite there, he lets out a melodious moan of your name that makes your vision hazier.

“Again,” his thumb and fingers gain incredible synchronicity and the tone of your voice is steadily rising as you call his name one more time before he brushes by the place that makes you see white. You have a sudden urge to tear the buttons of his shirt apart and rip the smug grin off of his face, but you can hardly breathe properly and he can see the clouds of lust in your eyes.

And suddenly his eyes aren’t level with yours anymore.

His hands haven’t stopped moving but he’s kneeling before you, watching his fingers glisten as he moves them in and out. You reflexively swing the leg that had been over his hips over his shoulders and one of your hands grabs a fistful of his hair like you expected him to do this, too.

He can swear you’d only ever existed to ruin him.

“Again,” his voice is hard and cold now, but his nose is digging into the skin of your inner thigh and you moan.

“Please, Jonghyun.”

You’re really good at throwing bait, aren’t you? And like the fucking fool he is, he always ends up falling for it.

His arm circles around the leg you have over his shoulder, and he anchors himself there before his mouth replaces his thumb to place one, two, three of the most chaste kisses against your already abused core. You will your hips to remain still against the movement but your arms are clutching futilely at the wood of the palm tree and you’re biting down on your lower lip. Jonghyun’s eyes look up at you now, and he notices how you’re chewing on the lip and how your eyebrows are furrowed to make your closed eyes look so needy, so ready to be corrupted.

He’s waited so long for this.

You squeal when you feel his tongue lick up languid lines up your heat and you allow yourself to pant shallow breaths into the night air even though your lungs are already begging you for more oxygen. You open your eyes to look down at the white of Jonghyun’s hair and the way he’s moving. It’s so close to being too much to bear, and you lose some more air when he glances up to catch your eyes before smirking.

You moan but it doesn’t leave your lips and he doesn’t seem to like it because his fingers are speeding up and he’s shamelessly sucking at your clit like he has something to prove. 

“Jonghyun, n-not so fast, just please,” you try to keep your voice down but it’s like he can’t hear you because his grip on your leg tightens and he dips deeper and further.

You’re heaving your breaths when he breaks away to suck at your inner thigh and even that contact is electrifying. “But you’re so good,” Jonghyun coos, drawing his fingers out from inside of you to lick at them, “so fucking good.”

The breeze blows some strands of hair over your face as you watch him return to his feet, and your hands feel like they have a will of their own as they quickly unbuckle his belt. You can feel him hard under your hands and he winces when your hand slips under his boxers. It’s like he can’t let you touch him for very long, because he sets your arms on his shoulders before his hands are on the back of your thighs and they’re soon wrapped around him. You wonder how many other people in this world could pull off sex on the beach like Kim Jonghyun.

He manages to lift your skirt and push it over one of your legs, and he’s so stiff and hard and your height difference is so unbelievably perfect that your cores are pressed against one another, and you gasp and clutch at whatever skin of his you can find. Jonghyun handles this all with ease, like he’s planned it all, and it takes him barely any effort to line himself up below you and thrust up without warning.

He feels like taboo.

His breath shudders on your skin and you clutch him harder. “So fucking good,” he grunts, drawing back before slamming back inside you, “doesn’t that feel so fucking good?”

You moan in response, he’s amazing at this.

He gains speed and confidence quickly, and it’s painfully obvious you’ve lost all control because you’re so close. You look for how he feels when you nip at his lips, and he licks fire down your throat to tell you he’s at the very brink of losing control himself. At this rate you’re both going to combust, and you can’t wait.

There isn’t a hint of restraint in the way you suck purple marks into his shoulder and his neck, and he retaliates by drawing a path back to your clit with his thumb. You whimper at his touch and try to tighten all of your muscles, which make his hands grasp at your skin none too gently.

“Can I fuck you a little harder?” he asks, searching for your eyes, and you only whimper because if he does you’re going to be legitimately bouncing on a fucking palm tree.

But you think he really likes the idea, because your spine hurts from how hard he’s pressing you against the tree and he answers his own question as his tip starts to repeatedly brush by the most sensitive spot in your body. You tense all over with excitement even though you shouldn’t, considering how relentlessly he’s going in, tip to hilt, but the way his breath catches makes you smile and your heart swell. He lets out a string of curses because you’re tightening around him almost spitefully, like you want to make him fall apart first, so he revisits the mark he’d left on the valley between your breasts earlier to give it a twin mark on the opposite side. The strength of the bite makes your whole body jolt, and lean back against the tree and spread your legs a little wider before letting out a yelp of his name.

He’s very thankful, even though it takes a little more strength to keep you against him now.

There are beads of sweat crowning his hairline, and he’s panting along with you as you move your hips to meet his own before his hands start to tremble and your toes start to curl again. 

“You’re getting me so close,” you breathe, running your hands through his hair to get it away from his pretty face, and his eyes shut closed before he moans and speeds up just a bit more because he’s close, too.  He’s so fucking close and he loves you, all of you, so much right now, and it’s killing him to keep his mouth closed. But it’s no use telling you things you already know.

The first wave is minimal, barely a tickle, but it starts to wind harder and higher to the point that your hips are moving to their own accord and you’re gasping for air and clutching to Jonghyun in every way. He’s whispering curses into your skin and you can see the veins of his neck protrude. Your whimpers are escalating in pitch and all of your muscles are contracting and dilating, and when you feel streaks of heat painting the inside of your body your whole vision gets starry and all you know is the bliss of thrill and all he knows is the smell of your skin and the taste of your mouth.

He moans one last time when he stills inside you and your eyes are glazed over with bliss. When he pulls out and releases your legs, you fall back on firm(ish) ground, and find that it’s not to hard to stand if you continue leaning against the tree. 

Jonghyun’s arms take no rest, though, and they’re soon on your skin, touching at the red marks he’d left on you, “I hope I didn’t hurt you.” 

You lift your head to shake your head and kiss his lips and he responds with unexpected softness, massaging your lips with absolute delicacy with his hands still caressing your arms, your waist, your hips. Now he doesn’t feel restrained, he feels like relief and warmth and safety.

“We should’ve found an easier way to do this,” you quip as you press a kiss to the very corner of his lips, and he laughs.

“It’ll make for a great story, though.”

You slap his arm playfully and watch him reassemble his clothes. There’s not much you need to do besides rearrange your skirt, and you feel light despite the soreness in your legs, between your legs, on your back, pretty much everywhere, honestly.

“I’m sorry.”

Your head whips around faster than it should, and you’re momentarily dizzy as you wait for him to go on. “I should’ve worn a condom.”

Oh, oops. You didn’t even think of that yourself.

“Well, luckily for both of us, I’m on the pill. Jinki also forgets all the time—”

Surprisingly enough, you both laugh.

But the silence that falls afterwards is uncomfortable, like you’re suddenly walking on foreign land with no direction. 

“What are we going to do?” you ask him with only half a smile, and he stretches his arm out to hold your hand. 

“Whatever we want to do. We’re both consenting adults, thankfully both single,” and he stops when you gasp.

“Technically, we’re on a break.”

“Whatever. One single party and a separated party. Still consenting, though… I think I’m going to get punched in the nuts.”

You laugh and push his shoulder with your free hand, “I’ll protect you.”

“Should we just sneak into the car and run away?” he proposes, taking your hand and swinging both your arms back and forth, but you shoot him a sharp look that reminds him that while he may feel lucid, both of you are still legally drunk. “I don’t understand why they’re still here, anyway.”

You let out a sigh that sounds like you’re pretty exhausted, and in more ways than one. “Because Jinki still wants to try to talk.”

Talking in general looks like it’ll be real awkward if things keep going the way they are, and you find that you don’t want to face anything at all that awaits you inside the house. So you steer Jonghyun’s arm back to the hammock, even though it’s too cold to lie there for too long.

You’re still happy to wait this, whatever the hell it is at this point, out.

It’s hard to stay awake when Jonghyun re-drapes his jacket over your back and you in turn re-drape yourself over his chest, and opening your eyes seems near impossible when he starts to hum the hook of a song you may or may not have listened to before. It lulls you to sleep in minutes, and Jonghyun gazes at you suspiciously a while later because his arm is getting numb from being your pillow. When he realises your breaths are getting deeper, he sighs and tries to accommodate the both of you without making any sudden movements. You’re out like a light, and it makes him smile a little bit.

He’s about to close his eyes for some rest when he hears rustling behind him, and he looks over to find Key’s familiar smirk. His hands are on his hips as he approaches the pair of you, and when he notices how passed out you are, he has to cover his mouth to keep himself from cackling.

“We’re driving back to Seoul,” he says in the lowest tone he can muster, but sadly, Kibum’s voice is a booming alto that resonates in the air no matter what, and Jonghyun shushes him quickly. After confirming that you’re indeed still knocked out, he looks back at his group mate with confusion. “Isn’t it almost three in the morning? Just stay over, it’s too late to be driving.”

Kibum shoots the elder a stern look. “My rehearsal’s at 7:30, and Jinki hyung’s call time is 8am,” he explains, and Jonghyun hisses in an attempt at sympathy, although it ends with him having to hold back chuckles. Taking days off feels real nice.

“Anyway, there’s water and some groceries for breakfast inside,” Kibum goes on, already turning on his heel to leave, “Call me when you get back to the city.”

He doesn’t wait for a response, he never does, and Jonghyun watches as both of his teammates quickly and quietly gather themselves and leave.

You stir on his chest just as the front door shuts closed, and he takes it as a cue to carry you in his arms and walk back inside the house. You’re starting to wake back up, but you’d rather not walk to bed because the threat of a migraine is already coming up the back of your skull. Before you can really register anything, you’ve landed on a very comfortable bed, and it takes you no time at all to pull one of the pillows under your head and throw some blankets over yourself.

When Jonghyun comes back to the room after having grabbed some more water bottles, you’re already completely tucked in. He has to laugh, but he doesn’t catch himself leaning against the doorframe to gaze at how peacefully you’re resting.

Until his phone starts to buzz.

Wondering what anyone could possibly have to tell him at this time of the night (morning?) and hoping it’s not anyone drunk texting him, he quickly unlocks the phone to read his messages.

_Don’t say I never gave you a fighting chance._

 

_>  [w](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DF1pB4rCz3dQ&t=YWYzYmU3YjljZjYxYzY4NDUxNmM4NjVkMjBhOWVlNmVjOWRmMzMxNCxvZ1dlS05XWQ%3D%3D&b=t%3AcXtpvFymmD9Dd4fNv0MUqQ&p=https%3A%2F%2Fhitchhikingbabeh.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F125331866343%2Flimerence-m&m=1)hen the roof was on fire you never let me know_

You wake up because it’s bright as hell. And hot, too. It smells like coffee and eggs. Your hair’s all over your face, your mouth is horribly dry and your eyes are almost painfully puffy. The next thing you discover is that the blankets are kind of rough on your skin, all of your skin…

When exactly did you strip naked?

“Weird… ” you mutter, sitting up and sighing as you pull the blankets up to cover your chest. You look up to see Jonghyun at the door, cleaned up and dressed in traditional international celebrity attire and with a plate of breakfast and a mugful of coffee in hand. You smile and sigh again, this time with relief, before falling back on the bed. “At which point did I take off my dress?”

Jonghyun laughs, and it’s so chipper that it makes you join in. 

“You just… up and off, right around seven in the morning?” his memory of it is unreliable, but he remembers smiling a little bit when you gingerly got out of bed to throw your dress over your head before returning to his side. In that moment, he became somewhat concerned with how cold your skin was, but you quickly (and perhaps reflexively) settled your back against his chest and even smiled when he pressed a kiss to your shoulder before you wished him a good morning.

“It was cute,” he adds as he approaches you with a plateful of toast, eggs and sausages.

“American breakfast?” this is odd, Jonghyun is very Korean about his food, but you take it anyway, because this tastes a bit closer to home for you.

“You’re welcome,” he sets the plate of food in your waiting hands, and you look up at him with grateful eyes.

Which turn sad about two seconds later.

“Jonghyun, about last night— _ooph_ ” he shoves toast into your mouth before you can go on, and it hangs comically from your lips as you reach out for the coffee and chew some of the bread before gulping down the liquid.

“Get dressed,” Jonghyun calls out softly as he turns around to return to the kitchen, rubbing his hands together to get rid of the crumbles of toast still on his fingers, “we should get back to Seoul soon.”

“I thought you wanted to take a real day off?”

Jonghyun turns his head to smile at you, “I know, but the Blue Night PDs called me and they want me to do the show at the garden studio tonight.”

“But that’s at  _midnight_ ,” you whine, gathering more of the blankets around you and taking another bite of toast. 

He doesn’t argue, and leaves you after reminding you to get ready one last time. It’s not that his tone feels cold, it sounds like he’s actually busier than he realised. You should never disregard the kind of life those boys live, the unpredictability of every day, but you often catch yourself doing so. The prospect of getting out of bed is kind of gloomy to you right now, but you anyways eat most of your food and finish your coffee before shuffling out of the warmth and comfort and into the bathroom.

Exactly an hour later you’re both ready to go, and there has been little conversation besides one-word sentences and a quip about the weather. It’s not awkward, but it’s a little tense, even when you’re back in his car and driving out of the cottage.

For about ten minutes he’s quiet in his seat, but every now and then he bobs his head along to the music coming from your phone, and even that makes you smile a little bit. He yelps when you skip the song that had just started to play, and you happily return to [P](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DGJhcmJoAtqU&t=YjU2ZmM2YjcxNDExNjliNTAwMDFlZTJhZTc0MmVkNGYxYzg0NTZjMCxvZ1dlS05XWQ%3D%3D&b=t%3AcXtpvFymmD9Dd4fNv0MUqQ&p=https%3A%2F%2Fhitchhikingbabeh.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F125331866343%2Flimerence-m&m=1)eejay to make him smile a bit wider. Your whole playlist is actually really fun to drive to, and soon enough his expression is back to its usual daydreamy look. You’re tempted to laugh at him, but before you do, you’re really staring at him and you think that you could get used to this.

A dangerous thought.

“Jonghyun,” you call out a little dourly, and at first, he doesn’t respond. Then he moves his hand from the gear shift to your arm, and his fingers dance their way to your hand before he actually looks over at you. 

“What is it?”

Now that he’s not wearing any makeup or sunglasses, you can see the exhaustion in his eyes. He doesn’t look rested in the least, and it takes away your will to be selfish. “Did you eat, back in the house? You look half dead,” you say instead, and he nods quickly. 

“I’m hungover, but I don’t feel too terrible. I ate when I woke up, don’t worry.” You offhandedly compliment his cooking, realizing you never thanked him for the food, and he gives your hand a squeeze.

You’re always so reluctant to say anything remotely resembling a compliment to the people close to you, so he’s really happy to receive one from you this early in the morning. He does notice how your eyes change after you look at him, and it wills him to grab his sunglasses and slip them on. He doesn’t like making you worry.

And he’s still supposed to be incognito anyway.

Halfway through the trip, Jonghyun finally yields and lets you drive, and the familiar feel of a steering wheel under your fingers is comforting. Jonghyun is taking a well-deserved nap beside you, and you lose track of the road just for a second when you notice that his eyes are slightly open and that he may have just mumbled something about his socks.

“I already…put them in the… thing… Mom, I’m trying to sleep.”

You resist the urge to squeal and try your best to keep your eyes on the freeway, and soon enough Jonghyun’s breathing settles and the car is mostly quiet save for the soothing sounds of [G](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DDuAhRozlD3s&t=NDM2OGJlNTAwNTZjZGY2OGMyOTkxOThjYThmNmUyZDkwMjgzMjViMCxvZ1dlS05XWQ%3D%3D&b=t%3AcXtpvFymmD9Dd4fNv0MUqQ&p=https%3A%2F%2Fhitchhikingbabeh.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F125331866343%2Flimerence-m&m=1)alimatias and Alina Baraz, and the occasional snore.

He’s really cute. You’re not sure what you’re looking for in him, and you know that there’s definitely something, but at least right now, he’s just really, really cute.

You wake him up when you’re fifteen minutes away from Seoul, and he looks unbelievably happy to have napped. “I have so much energy now,” he sings, “we should go pick up some more coffee.”

You do, and you grab some baked treats as well, and it’s probably early enough so that not a lot of people are on the street so it might be why your entire journey goes by completely unnoticed by the public. An amazing feat for Korean Alex Turner, if you may add. The thought reminds you of how much you love his band, and as soon as you’re back in the car, one of your favourite [s](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DqN7gSMPQFss&t=YTIwMDk2MjgwMzE1N2MzYTg5MTM5MzVmZTIxMmMyN2FkMzI0YTM4MSxvZ1dlS05XWQ%3D%3D&b=t%3AcXtpvFymmD9Dd4fNv0MUqQ&p=https%3A%2F%2Fhitchhikingbabeh.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F125331866343%2Flimerence-m&m=1)ongs by them plays softly from the sound system.

It makes for a nice ending to your adventure. In no time you’re already pulled over across from your building, and you’ve just ceded the driver’s seat back to Jonghyun and are now standing outside his window with your luggage at your feet. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to just get your car and go?” he asks, and you shoot him a warm, grateful smile and touch his cheek lightly with your thumb.

“Jonghyun,” there’s the tone he doesn’t like again, “last night—”

He kisses you quickly, it’s always been the best way to stop you from talking, and you don’t question it, probably because you know full well why he’s doing it. “Don’t you dare say it was a mistake,” he warns with his lips still brushing yours, “please don’t ask me to forget it happened.”

Fine, you were angry and drunk, but it wasn’t a mistake, he would’ve been able to tell, he didn’t for a single moment feel pitied, he felt loved and he knows you felt loved, too, you didn’t give him any indication that—

“I wasn’t going to.”

He did not expect that.

“Then wha… ?” his voice trails off because you’re smiling too widely at his gaping mouth and large eyes, so you press a light kiss to his lips to will him back to. 

“I was going to thank you,” you begin, “for everything about last night, really. And I’m sorry.”

“About what?”

“Not realizing that I’ll always have you,” these words seem unfamiliar coming from you, because trust has never been something either of you give away very easily. Jonghyun tries to respond coherently, but he’s still trying to process that  _holy shit this is really happening_ , and it earns him a few more giggles from you.

“Can I come see you in the studio tonight?” you ask innocently, leaning your forearms on his car door, and he shoots you a grin that quickly turns into pursed lips. 

“You’re going to be so bored out there, though,” he reasons after giving it some thought, “just standing outside the booth for two hours looking at my dumb face.”

“Hm, I can’t think of a better way to spend my Saturday. I’ll see you there.”

One more peck to the lips and off you go, having slung your bags over your shoulders. You never once look back at him, but he thinks you know that he watches you from his rear view mirrors until you’ve walked inside the lobby, and even then he sits in his car for a bit longer. It’s taking more time than he expected to let the past two days settle in.

Suddenly a shameless smile appears on his face and his forehead falls against the steering wheel with a tiny thud.

It’s like he’s back in grade school.

“Why does she have to be so cute?”

 

_>  [c](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DkkbkoMy-NfA&t=MzI1Njk1ZDI1YTI3NWZkOGRhOGUzMThkYTcxMmI5MTYxYmIxZTgwNCxvZ1dlS05XWQ%3D%3D&b=t%3AcXtpvFymmD9Dd4fNv0MUqQ&p=https%3A%2F%2Fhitchhikingbabeh.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F125331866343%2Flimerence-m&m=1)an we hit rewind?_

Now on your way up to your apartment, you think it might have been better to just get your car from the garage and go to your sisters’ or something, but the ding that announces the contraption’s arrival informs you that it’s too late. There’s not much to worry about anyway, you know that Jinki’s out of town to film a drama, so there’s only packing left for you to do in this apartment.

The familiar woody smell of the place makes you smile a little bit, and you’re surprised to see the place squeaky clean. Jinki must have really torn the place down and back up after hearing about the ring, and you chuckle to yourself as your eyes return to the band on your finger. You wouldn’t take it off even if you could, it’s such a pretty piece of jewelry…

And you’re a sucker for nostalgia.

After a giant glass of water and some lounging, you decide to get started on gathering enough clothes for some time away, and you’re very surprised to see what’s lying in front of your bedroom door.

White chrysanthemums were never your favourite, but you’re completely aware of why he would send them.

You approach the enormous bouquet slowly, and you wonder why he placed it here and not on the dining table like anyone else would have done, but that’s Lee Jinki for you. There’s a card attached to the centre of the arrangement, and you take it cautiously even though you have absolutely nothing to lose.

_we’re on a break, but it’s okay for me to still do things like this, right?_

He didn’t even try to clean up his messy handwriting.

_i’m sorry, i love you_

And you think you believe him.

_it still feels like i can’t breathe when i don’t see you_

For some reason you keep reading the lines, over and over, like you’re trying to etch them into the back of your skull, and you can’t tell why because your insides are full of rage and fear and a bit of scorn.

_i’m sorry, i love you._

But you believe him.


	2. Warm

> _[i](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DBSKimd9EX7s&t=YjE1NDQ5ZDQ1MDViMWFjYTM0NjY5MjAxNGNjMGI3ZmUwODhlMjRkMSxGSXFseU0wVA%3D%3D&b=t%3AcXtpvFymmD9Dd4fNv0MUqQ&p=https%3A%2F%2Fhitchhikingbabeh.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F125469378648%2Fwarm&m=1) can see the love run right out of you_

The garden studio is really nice. Sure, you’re going to be on your feet for the better part of two hours, but the people around you make the setting really pleasant. It’s well lit and safe, too, so you don’t feel uncomfortable being out here at such a late hour.

And you think you love watching Kim Jonghyun work. It distracts you from what you’re really supposed to be thinking about.

Your phone buzzes in your back pocket, and your eyes don’t stray from the bleach blond DJ as you retrieve it.

_Is it fun?_

You look up at him, still feigning naiveté and purposefully avoiding your side of the crowd, and smile as you tap on the screen to text back.

_You didn’t think I’d actually come, did you?_

Jonghyun is good at discretion. You have a hard time figuring out when and how he’s pulled out his phone to answer.

_I was hoping you would._

He looks comfortable, with a beanie on his head and his reading glasses. He’s wearing a sweater and you think it must be freezing in there, because you’re having a hard time with the jumper you’re wearing right now; tonight’s especially warm. You’re kind of jealous, and tempted to ask him if you could come inside and explore.

But then you think you have all the time in the world to do things like that.

Saturdays are the only nights when Jonghyun has absolute control of the programme’s playlist, and in between playing his favourite late night songs, he’s making fun of the sizeable crowd outside the studio. 

“Why are you all here on a Saturday night? Are all the clubs closed?  We live in the kind of country where you can buy and drink alcohol anywhere, so you could cross to a convenience store, get a bottle of soju and bring it back? And bring me some, too? Ah, I don’t think it’s allowed, but it’d be nice, wouldn’t it? I can’t drink soju very well though. Actually, I can’t drink well at all, but I prefer rice wine.”

It’s easy to get lost in his voice, especially when he’s on the radio. You love the way he shares so much about himself to anyone listening, and you don’t think they know how much it means to him to have someone know who he really is, what he’s really like. So many have made the most ridiculous assumptions about him, saying he’s arrogant, conceited, over-the-top, flashy, aggressive, hotheaded…

When in reality he’s about as threatening as a puff pastry.

_I forgot to tell you something._

When does he have the time to even type? You laugh and shake your head a little, quickly replying to ask what he’s talking about.

It takes him a while to answer, and in the interim you think some of the musical trends you follow must have stuck to him, because the [s](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DBgfcToAjfdc&t=ODBmZjNkNzY3ZTJlYzc5NTIwMWRhODg3MjI3YTY0ZjNiNjZmMjFiYyxGSXFseU0wVA%3D%3D&b=t%3AcXtpvFymmD9Dd4fNv0MUqQ&p=https%3A%2F%2Fhitchhikingbabeh.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F125469378648%2Fwarm&m=1)ong that starts blasting through the system is really similar to your current favourites.

Just then he openly pulls out his phone, and he’s looking at the screen very intently like it’s something of supreme importance, and you notice the tips of his ears getting red.

He takes in a deep breath and releases it nervously, and then he starts to type.

What’s with him?

You look down at your screen and it announces that he’s still typing, so you wait patiently with a smile on your face. For a split second you raise your eyes back to the booth, and Jonghyun has just put his phone down and is now fidgeting with his hands.

Then you get the alert.

_You taste like delirium._


	3. Limerence

_02\. lee jinki; slow burn[x](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DkkbkoMy-NfA&t=MzViMGNkZTA1NTYwMWU3MGE5MjU4OTQ2MGRjNGU0OTMzNzY1ODFjMixvZkFsSXJCcA%3D%3D&b=t%3AcXtpvFymmD9Dd4fNv0MUqQ&p=https%3A%2F%2Fhitchhikingbabeh.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F141179241933%2Fsaudade-t&m=1)_

  
When you first meet him, your hair is silver.  
  
As in silver blonde.  
  
The year is 2010, and you are too stressed out for your own good. So stressed out you start to spout white hair, and while your doctors and your therapist insist that premature greys are just genetic and that a healthier diet and some help from dye would make it go away, you decide to embrace it and take a bit of a wild take on the development.  
  
Instead of waiting for your mid 30s till the greys grew properly, you turn to your good friend hydrogen peroxide and bleach your entire head.

You also make it a point to dye your eyebrows the darkest colour they could go, for maximum effect. Add to that your everlasting fixation with black clothes, camo jackets and parkas, and that is the best summary of your late teens and twenties you can muster to this day.  
  
Seoul is buzzing, it’s the kind of city that never stops, so you never feel inclined to. It’s the last year before you’re due to move out of Korea (though you’re not yet sure if to study, to work or just to travel), and being a child of art, you’re taking every opportunity to get to know as much about the artistic scene of this city as you can. You decide to start by finding something that combined a few of your passions into one.  
  
Some of said passions being writing and theatre.  
  
So you become the apprentice to a theatre critic. Or intern, same difference. He takes you around to every play and musical in the city, gives you long lectures about the history and tradition of theatre in Europe and Asia (sometimes you argue about the American musical for days, though quite diplomatically). You discuss the beauty of the medium as communication and as documentation of the state of affairs at the times and places where the pieces were created and performed, and it doesn’t make you want to jump off the Yanghwa Bridge. You actually feel quite nurtured.  
  
You get to see the inner workings of everything involving the stage, from pre-production and casting to rehearsals to the actual run to the critical reception, even beyond that, and you are smitten. You decide you want to write about every aspect, and you do, until other critics start to have conversations with you about what you’ve seen and what you’ve thought, which makes you want to immerse yourself even further in the art form. You love it so much that you continue to intern even when summer ends, and surprisingly enough, your schedule isn’t lethal.  
  
It’s actually quite pleasant. And much to the chagrin of your friends and family, your hair is still a cool platinum, now tickling at your collarbones. In your defense, some of your roots are still white.  
  
On the first week of September, the latest musical announces the date of their press call, and it’s safe to say your boss isn’t absolutely ecstatic.  
  
“You know how I feel about American musical adaptations,” he says as he walks past you and towards his office, “I just hope they did at least a decent job of casting, and a more decent job with wardrobe.” 

Your boss hates American fashion, and hates how everyone is trying to incorporate it into their daily style, and it makes you chuckle as you put down the morning newspaper and move to make him fresh tea. Mostly because you’re the prime example of the trends, clad in fishnet stockings, boots and all-black ensembles and mid-length parkas, and he doesn’t hate you at all.  
  
“I might even send you,” he calls from his leather chair, leaning back on it and weighing out the pros and cons, “when is it again?”  
  
You purse your lips for a moment as you check the invitation. “It’s tomorrow at two in the afternoon. Noh Younghae is attending, he called to confirm if you are.”  
  
There’s a bout of silence as you steep some green tea, and then you hear your boss sigh.  
  
“You go.”  
  
This would be the first time you’re sent alone to a show (even if this is a preview, it counts in his book), and you’re actually looking forward to it. You return to your desk in the reception area and take up the invitation once again, looking over its text with a mild expression.  
  
You’ve already seen  _Rock of Ages_ , but you’re a sucker for 80’s American rock, so why not?

* * *

The site of the event is jam-packed. You’re not a fan of the screaming middle aged women occupying the front and holding up signs, and you realise soon enough that their excitement is all directed at the main lead. Which, you didn’t know until today, turns out to be an idol.  
  
It’s fair to say you don’t know much about idols proper, but you know of many groups and hear their songs on the radio often. You actually don’t mind the yuppiness of their music, because you consider pop music a kind of documentation of the cultural trends of the time. You respect the way some of the groups follow into these trends so quickly, and for a music geek like yourself, nothing beats a good rhythm and solid lyrics. Extra credit for good choreography.  
  
You’re still scrambling to remember any actual song titles by the idol group the young man belongs to when the show begins, so you become entirely distracted and decide to leave the racking of your brain for another time.  
  
Then you lay eyes on him. Your reaction is gradual, because at first you’re convinced that your raised brows are caused by the strangely appropriate look of him. It fits the musical exactly: a denim sleeveless jacket, dark jeans that are more of a second skin, graphic tee and long hair parted at the middle.  
  
He fits the 80s fashion aesthetic brilliantly, and the eyeliner really doesn’t hurt.  
  
In fact… he’s kind of hot.  
  
The direction is great, even though the production is lacking due to the nature of the setting. This is supposed to be an  _amuse-bouche_  of sorts, but you are hooked by the end of the first musical break. The singing is on point, and you’re elated to discover your favorite entertainment veterans among the cast, even more so when you lock eyes with one of them and he shoots you a wink back.  
  
You’ve always had a bit of a weakness for Shin Sungwoo (though you know him as Shin Dongyoon), and seeing him on stage compels you to want to stay after the show. He hasn’t been in theatre in ten years and he’s a sight for sore eyes, even though you’ve never really watched him work the stage. But you’ve loved him in every film and TV show he’s ever starred in, every album and every collaboration, and he’s very good friends with your boss. You’ve had other mutual acquaintances throughout your apprenticeship, and after a few chance meetings, you finally got to sit down with him and get a glimpse of his mind and his love of the performing arts, while he got a glimpse of your surprising maturity and your reckless but harmless nature.  
  
As the show progresses, you find yourself more and more immersed in the story, even though you know the musical by heart and nothing could surprise you. You have to admit the lead has excellent control of his character, even his mannerisms seem effortless even though you know they’re rehearsed, and when the guy starts to belt out  _I Wanna Rock_ , you have to lean back on your seat, because he’s got some serious pipes.  
  
His aura is no joke.  
  
And neither are his thighs. His hair is kind of out of this world, too.  
  
You look over at the journalist sat next to you, who’s taking detailed notes of virtually everything about the show, and you finally catch the lead’s name properly.  
 _  
Lee Jinki, a.k.a. SHINee’s Onew._  
  
His name is kind of funny, but you’re oddly captivated. Even though his features are soft, his eyes are sharp and so is his voice, a clear light-lyric tenor with gorgeous depth; a surprisingly appropriate fit for Drew Boley.  
  
So surprising you find that you can’t remember the name or the face of the actor that played him when you saw the show on Broadway just last year, or even what he sounded like, and you’re usually pretty good about that kind of thing.  
  
Eventually, you feel it a bit harder to concentrate on anything but Drew Boley’s delivery, and how the crowd, despite being just press, critics and a few passionate supporters, just eats him up without a second guess. His magnetism is ridiculous, and you think you understand the phenomenon of the idol now. The more you look at him, the more you feel like getting wrapped up in his words, you are so curious about him and what he’s really like off stage and off camera. Eyes that were once narrow and expectant are now soft and in awe. A bit enthralled, really.  
  
Despite the rampant distraction, you remain level by reminding yourself that you have a job to do. After regaining most of your focus, you take some notes, go over what you’ll relay to your boss, and what you think other critics here may take away from this teaser. Throughout the last bit, you realise this musical’s run may even be amazing, and you smile as you think about what your boss would say if he were actually seated next to you. 

He’d probably argue about the wardrobe, you conclude, and you’re already looking forward to the discussion that’ll erupt when you return to the office.  
  
When the preview ends, your hands are balled into fists and you’re biting back smiles as the actors say their farewells, and Drew Boley sticks around for extra bows that are very well-received by the ladies at the front. You wonder if you’ll ever figure out why you always like the hotshots first, until the boy splits into the brightest, most dazzling smile you’ve ever seen in your life.  
  
 _Holy shit._  
  
That’s probably why.  
  
You hang around for the mini-press conference, and you manage to sit through most of the redundant questions asked of him without cringing. Actually, you manage to get quite a bit of insight into Lee Jinki’s spotlight persona, which is not very different from Drew Boley except with a splash of clumsy grace, some unintended charms and a much deeper speaking voice than you initially expected.  
  
The unassuming sex appeal is still there, though.  
  
It’s sometime when he’s commenting on the challenges of idols breaking out of their comfort zone that you slip off to go to the makeshift dressing rooms, and with a nod and a smile at the security team, you manage to get into the main casts’ green room.  
  
Sungwoo welcomes you loudly, with an exclamation of your name and open arms.  
  
“How did you like it?” he asks, and momentarily looks sideways at the other cast members flooding into the room. You give him a bright smile and two thumbs up, and it’s all he needs to ruffle your hair. 

“I think it’ll do great,” you add, and Sungwoo offers you a seat in the lounging area for more comfortable conversation, “the reception seemed pretty good from where I sat, and you even got a few passionate fans in there!”  
  
“That was probably because of Onew,” he adds, and takes a bottle of water from a passing staff member, “he’s working very hard, and the part fits him so well, I think he basically completes the musical. What did you think?”  
  
You consider your answer very carefully.  
  
“I think you were fantastic!” you’re avoiding his eyes and looking for something else to add, “the entire production looks great, the vocal direction was so good, and the acting is on point, the wardrobe and the hair are just your style! That Onew guy, he’s good, too,” and here you add a laugh for effect. Sungwoo is giving you a smile with narrowed eyes before he takes a careful sip of water.  
  
“Do you want to meet him?”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Everyone wants to meet him, why are you getting nervous?’ he can tell by how you fidget with the skirt of your A-line dress and it makes him chuckle.  
  
“I wouldn’t want to impose, he doesn’t seem like the type to… really take well to… you know, since he’s a popular idol from a popular idol group,” you explain, and Sungwoo nods, which means he understands.  
  
It’s a few minutes later when his manager appears to take him away, because he has both a recording session (for something he can’t tell you about) and rehearsal for this very musical. While saying goodbye, you’re formally introduced to Dana, who looks great without her white blonde Sherrie wig, and she gives you a warm greeting before you’re walking through the dressing rooms in search of the exit.  
  
This area is closed off to staff and cast only, and you figure this is the safest place for you to make some preliminary notes to present in your report. You find your way through some doors till you’re outside and find yourself a little corner with spare boxes of equipment and standing room for about four people.  
  
You think it’s perfect, so you hike up a leg and sit on top of the rack of fiberboard cases (the asphalt floor is hot and uncomfortable to stand in) and pull a small notebook from your backpack. You’re tempted to pull out your iPod once your hand is scurrying around the bag, but you spot your pack of cigarettes first.  
  
Nasty habit, but you’re tempted to indulge.  
  
One of the goldenrod-butted sticks rests between your index and middle fingers as you search for a lighter, matches, anything in the depths of your bag to light up. After a minute or two, you’re exasperated and almost give up the endeavor, until you hear —    
  
 _Flick, flick, flame, puff._  
  
It seems your corner isn’t secret at all. When Lee Jinki looks up at you from his own cigarette, safely tucked between his lips, his eyes are the size of twin planets.  
  
“Got a light?”  
  
His eyes are still wide open when he throws his lighter at you, and you’re both surprised at how effortlessly you catch it. It’s a golden Zippo, no less, which suggests this guy might be a seasoned smoker. He probably wants to bolt straight out of there this second.  
  
In an attempt to make him feel slightly more comfortable, you look away from his face, still in stage makeup, to light your own cigarette. The taste is fiery and bitter on the back of your tongue, just like it always is. It’s never completely welcome, but your muscles relax almost immediately after the first inhale.  
  
“Are you press?”  
  
His tone is polite, but it’s not warm. You shake your head and he moves to stand opposite you, leaning against the wire-mesh fence that separates the particular corner from the venue’s parking lot.  
  
“Do you have a camera?”  
  
You shake your head again, and you don’t react when you catch him inspecting you, surely fishing for any sort of recording equipment. He keeps his eyes on your hands for a bit longer. It makes you put away your notebook and pen, and instead you settle for crossing your ankles in the air before you take a longer drag of your cigarette.  
  
“I’m not a reporter, not a sasaeng, or with the tabloids, okay?” you say, residue smoke still slipping past your lips, “and I’m not a fan.”  
  
“Good,” he half-smiles and relaxes, “you wouldn’t tell anyway, would you? No one would believe you.”  
  
Again, civil but curt. Playful and poisonous and you’re so confused. You give him a reassuring smile in response. “I wouldn’t be out here if I wanted to be seen, either.”  
  
Your tone is condescendingly honest before you’re suddenly totally distracted by his hair. There are tiny curls at the ends of every strand, he looks kind of ethereal and he might not even know it. Or knows too damn well.  
  
“Who could  _you_  possibly be hiding from?” he’s even more patronising than you, and you’re a bit impressed.  
  
“Why do you care?”  
  
And then he becomes even more smug.  
  
“I saw you talking to Shin Sungwoo. Are you the girl he keeps yapping about?” and he calls your name and it’s your turn to give him widened eyes. Your eyebrows arch up, and from then on he seems much more relaxed, leaning on the fence and re-toxing with comfort. He clearly doesn’t feel that you’re a threat to him anymore.  
  
“Yapping about?” you’re even more curious and a little angry, enough to cross your legs even though your dress is a bit short for that, and you rest your free hand on your knee.  
  
“You’re the girl who sings, right?” he chuckles. “He told us he would’ve made you audition for Sherrie if he didn’t already know Dana was lined up for the part.” He knows it’s you because Dongyoon hyung had mentioned the fantastic head of silver, and he didn’t expect to be this thrilled to meet you.  
  
“Now that I see you up close,” another careless once over, “I’m curious how it would have turned out. I really like your hair.” He’s never seen anyone rock platinum blonde as well as you. At least not any women.  
  
You’re not sure how to respond, so you don’t. Every word out of his mouth feels like he’s standing on the already fine line between being nonchalant and an asshole.  
  
“In any case,” he smiles and it’s more tender, but you’re still kind of baffled, “it’s nice to meet you. Do you know who I am?”  
  
“Yes, but I’m not sure what to call you,” you raise your cigarette to your lips, now halfway smoked. The boy’s eyebrows shoot up and he laughs, though it’s not sardonic. It sounds genuine, like he’s actually surprised to hear those words.  
  
There’s something weird about you, aside from your astounding looks. He can tell by the sound of your voice that there’s a certain musicality about you. It makes him wonder what could have happened if SM wasn’t calling the shots on most aspects of this musical already, if he’d gotten cast opposite someone with as unique an aura as yours. He’d ask you to sing if he felt bolder, but he remembers that he hates it when people make him show off his pipes on the spot and he’d rather not put you through the discomfort.  
  
He’s smoked his cigarette to the filter and the final drag burns his lips, so he throws the butt at his feet and crushes it under his boot before approaching you. He extends his hand as he nears, and you look from his endearingly chubby fingers to his face with expectant curiosity. He looks even brighter this close and you want to smile but you’re still confused about the entirety of him.  
  
“My name’s Jinki. You can call me that if you feel comfortable, or you can call me Onew if you don’t,” he says as he takes your hand, and you’re surprised at how snug the fit is, it makes your stomach do the weird somersault thing you don’t like.  
  
He feels strange, different. The energy you’re getting from him right now is more open than what you saw on stage, even during the press conference. He’s still holding your hand when you offer your name once more, and the way you look at him makes him chuckle.  
  
“Will I see you on my opening night?”  
  
Kind, but so detached.  
  
“Maybe,” you answer, a crooked smile on your lips. He narrows his eyes at you, his expression all play and no work, and it makes you laugh. “Okay, fine. Yes, you will.”  
  
But he doesn’t.

  
  
> _[y](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3D7A9yNiQ-p3k&t=MTBkYWNhMTNjMGJkZGUzNTRhNWIzYTY0MGVkY2M0ODM2YmM5NjJhNyxvZkFsSXJCcA%3D%3D&b=t%3AcXtpvFymmD9Dd4fNv0MUqQ&p=https%3A%2F%2Fhitchhikingbabeh.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F141179241933%2Fsaudade-t&m=1)ou’re the reason, but you’re never in season_  
  
You’ve been sitting across the bouquet of white chrysanthemums for too long. The apartment is so cold you’ve pulled your knees up to your chest to cover your toes with your hands. Why have you been staring at these flowers for so long? It’s not like you don’t know how it’s going to to go from here on out.  
  
There’s no way you can forgive him.  
  
Even when you do stand up and walk inside your bedroom to see a brand new bed, your mind doesn’t change. There’s another note atop the garnet duvet, and you take it with caution because you feel repelled by the new furniture. When you unfold the piece of paper, you’re not surprised at what it says in the least.  
  
 _please stay, i’ll go_  
  
It’s so like him to do this.  
 _  
you don’t care where as long as it’s not here, right? i don’t either_  
  
Now that you’re cold and sober and still a little hungover, you wish you had let him explain. If you had, you probably wouldn’t be feeling this empty, this… shite.  
  
 _my only home is still you._  
  
“Then why did you fucking do it?!” you fling the slip of paper out of your sight and sigh as you sink down onto the mattress, much softer and more comfortable than your previous one. The bedframe is new, too, and the wooding smells nice and welcoming. It seems the linens are new as well. This is foreign, it was meant to make you feel better, safer, but you just feel like a stranger.  
  
Does that mean you should leave? Is that the right thing to do?  
  
Crying solves nothing, you know because it’s what your family told you growing up, that no amount of wailing and screaming or wiping at tears is going to fix your problems. But why does it feel like it’s the only thing you can do? You don’t want to feel bad, you don’t want to regret anything you’ve done. Not because you think you’ve done nothing wrong, but because you don’t think Jinki deserves this.  
  
What kind of fucked up logic is that, anyway?  
  
Why the fuck do you feel like  _he_  doesn’t deserve this? Why do you feel like you’ve kicked him out if this was something that  _he_  did? There are no valid reasons for you to be feeling this way because it’s not normal. You’re supposed to be mad, you’re supposed to never want to see him again, but you’ve half a mind to call him right now because his words are too sad on paper, because you want to hear them from his mouth.  
  
But you’re afraid. You’re so afraid that when you do, you’ll fall right in the palm of his hand again. Then he can crush you again.  
  
This emotional whirlwind is giving no signs of stopping, but then a thought crosses your mind that has you feeling strangely mischievous.  
  
You’ve already fucked up plenty, right?  
  
Might as well fuck up some more.  
  
 _They’re beautiful._  
  
The text message is marked read within seconds, and it makes you feel something alright, but it’s not too clear. Of course, you’re happy that he’s so attentive, but he always has been. You feel the vicious need to tell him that you don’t want to see him but that there’s a conversation that needs to be had and that you should meet, that when doesn’t really matter, but you resist with every fibre of your being, and you manage it.  
  
Two minutes pass and he doesn’t send you a response. To be honest, it provokes you into wanting to throw the entire bouquet out the window.  
  
Which you do, soon enough.  
  
Hell hath no fury, right?

* * *

When you tell Jonghyun about your little rebelry, he is not happy. 

“It sounds to me like you’re the one that wants to talk now,” he comments scornfully, walking around his bedroom towards the whole shelves of scented candles he owns, “and I think you should, too… I’m just worried about…” he trails off and his voice goes back to dulcet and delicate, but he doesn’t have to say any more for you to get what he means.  
  
He’s worried about the same thing you are, falling back in the trap, getting sweet-talked back into Jinki’s arms. But he tries to avoid those thoughts as he grabs a baltic amber candle and circles back around to you, comfortably curled into one side of his bed. The smile that overpowers him helps him forget, because he could really get used to this view. You’re wearing his socks, his shirt; your shorts are basically the only garment that are your own. Your hair is sprawled behind you in a prettily arranged mess, and you’re looking at him like you have the weight of the entire world on your shoulders.  
  
He lights up the candle and sets it on his nightstand before looking back at you, and all he can do is smile. Even though he wants to stop you from letting yourself gravitate to Jinki, he respects your decisions and understands that at the end of the day, he has little say in what you do or choose not to do.    
  
You’re staring at the wall opposite you until Jonghyun settles into your line of sight, mirroring your position and letting out a small sigh. His hand goes to brush imaginary stray strands of hair behind your ear, and he eventually moves until his whole hand is running through your scalp. You shiver lightly at first, but you heave a sigh of your own and settle more comfortably onto the bed and closer to him, meeting his eyes with a bit of a pout.  
  
“You know he’ll come running, right?”  
  
Of course you know, but you only nod timidly. It’s why you obeyed the temptation in the first place. Jinki has always had a weakness for the bones you throw him, and you never think twice before tickling his impulses by yielding to your own.  
  
“Do you know when he’ll be back from filming?” he’s asking because he knows, “Should I call the managers to find out?”  
  
There’s no need, and you tell him as much. You should wait this out for now, lest you drive yourself even crazier and start pulling out your hair. “It’s better if I don’t know,” you chuckle bitterly, and Jjong understands. He always understands, and it makes you feel like shit for even thinking of Jinki.  
  
“I don’t know how to feel. I have to see him, but I don’t know if I want to,” you confess with a sigh, and Jonghyun’s nose is brushing your own.  
  
“Then don’t,” he pleads, this is exactly where he didn’t want things to come to. But you set your hands on his cheeks and caress at the skin there, and your eyes aren’t fluttering shut to tell him to close the distance. He doesn’t want to talk about this anymore, he wants to stray your conversation as far away from this as possible, but he needs you to know that he’s willing to be your safe place, that you can tell him anything.  
  
You tell him about the bed, and he’s not surprised. This is textbook Jinki. “I can’t sleep there, I don’t think I can ever sleep there. Maybe it’s because he bought it to cover up what happened, maybe he wanted to spare me that pain but I can’t even look at it and it’s killing me,“ your heart is breaking as you speak and so is his, you can see it in the way his eyes redden almost in time with your own.  
  
“Why are you making yourself confront him?”  
  
The truth is you have no idea why.  _You_  called the break, _you_  left him half-crying in that private lounge,  _you_  made it a point to draw a clear line of separation, so why do you want to talk now?  
  
“A part of me wants to knee him in the face, but another part of me wonders if he really is sorry,” you explain, and it’s quite the honest sentiment. “There’s no use in a break if I don’t, if he doesn’t…”  
  
 _Love you._ You need to know if there is any truth to the shaky strokes of ink on his notes, any sincerity in those white mums. You need to know that you made the right choice. That what you felt, what you feel for Jonghyun is legitimate, because it feels like it now, and it should feel like it when Jinki’s standing right in front of you. But most of all, you need to know that you can move on, because you know he certainly will.  
  
Jinki loves quickly and unconditionally, but he moves hard and fast like a comet without a set course. He’ll burn his way through you without either of you realising it, there’s a very good chance he already may have.  
  
“I just have to be sure.”  
  
Jonghyun is trying not to frown at the weakness in the tone of your voice, because if he was in Jinki’s place, he would be doing everything in his power to get you back. He’d stop at nothing, and he knows Jinki won’t either. He’s surprised he hasn’t gotten his arm or a rib broken, because Jinki’s always been particularly jealous, with his possessions and his brains and especially with you. He would be, too, he wouldn’t have waited for a text message to see you and tell you that he’d never look at another the way he looks at you…  
  
But he probably wouldn’t have cheated in the first place.  
  
[J](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3Dv7zB6raFCc4&t=MTRkMjY3OGY1ODNjOTg3ZjVjYmQ2MjFhZjRlMzYxZTQ1YTNmMmVjZixvZkFsSXJCcA%3D%3D&b=t%3AcXtpvFymmD9Dd4fNv0MUqQ&p=https%3A%2F%2Fhitchhikingbabeh.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F141179241933%2Fsaudade-t&m=1)ohn Mayer has started to play from his speakers, and it’s just faint enough to make him feel like he can breathe better. His hands start to veer down your neck, his touch light as a feather, brushing past your shoulder and down your arm until reaches your hip bones. Here he draws wide, careful figure eights in an attempt to lift the pout from your lips. When that doesn’t work, he properly circles his hand around your hips to pull you against him. It takes only a second for you to smile, and you oblige him by moving even closer, and then his hands return to your hair.  
  
“You think too much, did you know that?” his voice is a whisper and nothing more, but it’s harsh on your ears because it reminds you of where you stand, what you’re doing. How you’re hanging by a thread and he’s clutching at your ankles, how you’re torn between cutting him loose, hoisting him up or letting go so you can fall together.  
  
It’s already unthreading and you still can’t make up your mind.  
  
“I don’t want to make you worry,” you start, but you leave out the part about hating that you have to talk to him about this, hating that he’s a part of it that’s too big for you to control and how it makes you so angry. He smiles, twirling your hair around his fingers, and kisses your nose.  
  
“I’ll worry anyway.”  
  
Your pout turns a bit more grim. “I hate that.”  
  
“Then allow me to distract you.”  
  
You don’t like how you give in so quickly, that it just takes a moment and he’s under your skin. You hate to think it’s because you want to forget about everything except him. You hate thinking about how you’re still trying to escape your own reality and hide the pain in the corners of the smiles he brings out of you until your hands are the ones clutching at his clothes, your teeth grazing his lips and your body moving against his.  
  
He hates reminding you of him, he hates that you still want to think about him even though you have no reason to, and it’s fair to say he’s doing his damnedest for the sparkle in your eyes to return. It’s been some time and his heart shows no signs of changing, he still wants to protect you with every fibre of his being, still wants to prove to you that you can be loved, that you will be loved because he can’t help himself and he knows that deep down, neither can you.  
  
Jonghyun tickles your waist lightly and you stifle a laugh, your hand reaching up to cup his cheek. The tips of his fingers continue to graze the same few spots until you’re giggling, and you’re just about to roll on top of him when you feel more tickles, but at your feet.

Then you feel a tiny dip on the bed, and sniffles against the exposed skin of your back.  
  
Jonghyun sighs but he’s still smiling as he opens his eyes and spots the source of the interruption, and you follow his line of vision before chuckling yourself.  
  
“Or, you know, Roo can distract you.”  
  
You actually laugh now, and he can see the glow in your eyes so he’s not too bothered to watch you reach a hand out to scratch the back of the dachshund’s ears till Roo is rolling on her back for her preferred kind of petting.    
  
“I can’t believe this,” Jonghyun is shaking his head as you tickle all over Roo’s belly, “I’m getting cockblocked by my own dog.” Your laughter blooms and echoes throughout the room now, and it makes him blush, so he’s more than happy to join you in playing with the dog until she’s exhausted and leaves the room, probably to fetch herself a drink of water.  
  
Jonghyun even follows the dog out, saying something along the lines of ‘oppa will put a sock on the doorknob next time~’. When he finally shuts and locks his bedroom door, he turns to you with smug eyes. “So, where were we?”  
  
You prop yourself up on your elbows and offer Jonghyun a smile, and his face softens as he walks towards you and catches sight of the time from a clock by his fireplace. “Do you want to stay for dinner?” he asks before jumping on the spot next to you, “I’ll order something yummy.”  
  
The look you shoot him makes him pout, because it means you want to stay, but you’re going to force yourself not to. “I would, I really would love to,” your voice is getting higher in pitch and you feel even guiltier as Jonghyun crawls up to you with the same pout, until his arms are on either side of your waist and he can fully look down at you.  
  
“Stay,” his hands are gentle on your waist but it’s also ticklish, you don’t want to smile but you can’t help it, “please.”  
  
You can’t do that, and it hurts you to tell him.  
  
“Don’t leave,” he goes on, his nose digging into the crook of your neck, and you can tell his next step is going to be putting all of his weight on you so you can’t leave. “I hate it so much when you leave.”  
  
These words are so familiar that it terrifies you, your skin is crawling and you run your hands through his hair and remind yourself that this is Jonghyun,  _this is Jonghyun._  
  
He thinks you’re onto him, that you can tell that you mean so much more to him than you’d anticipated, than you could be prepared for. But when you catch him by the lips you are overflowing with sincerity and warmth. He can’t deny you anymore; that’s why it’s so hard for him to be rational, to remember it wasn’t just anyone who broke your heart, it was someone he still considers a brother.  
  
So he starts to cave.  
  
“Can you come to the studio later?” he’s biting the corner of his lips and you can tell that he’s a little nervous.  
  
His question is guarded, polite, but what he really wants to ask is that you come back to him, no matter what. If you’re happy, come back to him. If you’re sad and seconds away from breaking down, come back to him. If you’re angry and you want to punch walls, come back to him. He just has to know that you won’t stay with Jinki, that you won’t want to.  
  
You hesitate, and it makes him crumble. But you nod a moment later, brush the tips of your fingers on his cheek until they’re under his chin and you can look him straight in the eyes. His irises remind you of the kind of songs you want to hear at 3AM when the sky is too dark and you never want it to change, when sounds are blurrier but larger and louder. They remind you that when it’s late you’re tired and when there are tears behind your smiles, he’s there. He’s always there.  
  
“I might be late,” you say, already sitting up even though he doesn’t want to wake up from this yet, “but I’ll be there.”  
  
It’s all he wants to hear.

  
  
> _[y](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DrVBPJRxaSbw&t=NTBlMjIyNGRkY2M1YmM2ZGNiYzM0YzkwYzdkYTFhMGZkZGI0YTk0OSxvZkFsSXJCcA%3D%3D&b=t%3AcXtpvFymmD9Dd4fNv0MUqQ&p=https%3A%2F%2Fhitchhikingbabeh.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F141179241933%2Fsaudade-t&m=1)ou got the easiest position to destroy my life, all you have to do is arrive_  
  
Well, this is it.  
  
One last look at the dressing room he’s grown so very fond of and that’s pretty much all he can do. After months of arduous work and a lot of vocal strain, here he is. His last night as Drew Boley.  
  
Twenty people have already asked him what’s next for him and his group after tonight. The answer is obviously always more work. He’s already booked for dozens of variety appearances, a few musical performances here and there, and his group already started to prepare for their solo concert at the end of the year.  
  
But what first comes out of his mouth is, after this show probably comes a haircut. To which his stylist almost faints, and it makes him laugh because he always finds it amusing how attached people can get to whole façades of him. Even when they see the mask falter, or drop completely, they check it off as a trick of the light, of the setting or of the soju bombs and continue to shower him with compliments he probably doesn’t deserve. It makes him smile, though rather somberly, to see that these people are so willing to fall in love with his lies, sometimes laced with truth but lies all the same. As if it makes him something extraordinary. As if the fact he cares more than he should and that it always shows is something to be celebrated, when he’s just like everyone else.  
  
He can sing well for someone his age and with his training, but he’s not anything out of this world. He looks good, makeup suits him well and so do certain clothes, but he’d never put himself up to be on the cover of magazines. He can move well and he knows, but he won’t stand under a spotlight to be watched unless he shares the stage with those who actually are dazzling, those he considers truly mesmerising.  
  
It’s never been him. At least not him alone, and never all of him.  
  
He thinks that’s why Dongyoon hyung always compliments the way his voice carries melodies like they’re gloomy love songs, even if the words are curses. There’s always the soft, gentle Onew on the surface but parts of the arrogant, ambitious, strong, playful Jinki underneath. Jinki, who is so much more than he gives himself credit for.  
  
Yet all people see is Onew. All people want to see is Onew.  
  
He thinks that’s why he misses the girl who caught him smoking. Why he thinks about you every time he steps out to indulge his nefarious habit, why your one comment was so enticing, so amusing, even though it shouldn’t have meant anything at all.  
  
 _I’m not sure what to call you._  
  
All the names that have been used on him, the ones he chose and the ones he’s been given; all the insults and pet names and epithets he’s donned for two years, and you couldn’t pick one.  
  
He should’ve asked you to call him Onew. It’s what he does with any new person he meets while he’s working. But for some reason he wanted to know how his real name sounded rolling off your lips, and the curiosity has been gnawing at the back of his mind since that day.  
  
You’d broken your promise to him, but he can’t hold it against you. Maybe he’d suspected in the way you played with your hair with a cigarette in hand. How you’re aloof without even wanting to be, only concerned with your next endeavour, your next adventure, and where that may lead. Maybe then he’d known that you were outside his entire universe, that there was no way he would reach you without risking falling head over feet, handing over what little bits he has left of himself for you to marvel at the way you looked at his Zippo lighter.  
  
Which, might he add, is also still in your possession.  
  
Not your fault, either. He’d been so concerned with getting wrapped up in your words and in the locks of silver brushing your clavicle that he forgot about the object completely. At least until he needed his next fix.  
  
Actually, he might be able to sneak one more cigarette before it’s time to go, if he can manage to greet everyone in the green room within the next five minutes—    
  
“There he is!”  
  
Guess not.  
  
He turns around with an automatic smile to find a small battalion of people he loves, and he relaxes instantly. His parents are always such a welcome sight. His mother beams when she catches his eyes, and his father smiles proudly and broadly. Kyuhyun is warm, he’s always warm even through his blatant sarcasm, much like Kibum, whose smirks always hide a kind of affection Jinki has a huge weakness for. Minho’s elated to see him, always has been, and looks at him with eyes of an admirer, but one that wants to learn from both Jinki’s laughs and his tears and his anger, too.  
  
Taemin is mostly confused, he didn’t expect to feel as flustered as he does because this isn’t the same as when the group is working together and hyung seems kind of foreign but kind of cool. Jonghyun and Changsun are grinning from ear to ear because they expect nothing more and nothing less than what they’re seeing, because they know that what Jinki gives is always his all, or as close to it as he can get.  
  
He’s more grateful than he can say.  
  
Kyungsik hurries them away before too long, it’s twenty minutes till show time and Jinki has to go vocalise.  
  
At least that’s what he uses as an excuse to go for that cigarette.

* * *

It’s ten minutes till the show starts and you are still two kilometres away. Traffic isn’t showing any signs of speeding up and you’re considering running to the concert hall at this point.  
  
Why are you even here?  
  
You’d had a busy day, assisting a friend at a photoshoot at Gyeongpo beach, but your boss had been sitting on tonight’s ticket for weeks. He’d been insisting you take it since you’d written so passionately about the run of the musical and any news related to it, since you’d been singing the entire soundtrack for a month and he needed you to shut up. There’s also the tidbit about you still having the boy’s lighter, and for some reason you think he may be missing it.  
  
Truth be told, he doesn’t look like the kind of person to miss anything, to look back after walking away. But something still compelled you to come here and give it back.  
  
So here you are, hair coiled from sea air (there’s something glamorous about how it looks, but nothing pleasant about how it feels) and cheeks tinted from standing under the autumn sun. The silk in the sleeves of your red sundress is soft but it’s thin, so you’re grateful for your black leather jacket and the fact that you at least had time to switch from sandals to short boots before leaving for the Olympic Park.  
  
You just wish you’d left at least fifteen minutes earlier, and so does your cab driver. You didn’t think it’d be this crowded, though you’re aware that it’s the musical’s last night. The sense of urgency wills you to tap on the cab driver’s shoulder with a shy pout on your lips.  
  
“You think we can make it?”  
  
His eyes are earnest, he doesn’t know you but you seem nice, so he’ll be honest. “I think it’d be best to run. You might not make it unless you start weaving through the crowds now.”  
  
So you slip him cash and a great tip before jumping out of the cab. It’s raining and you thank the heavens for your jacket, immediately pulling the leather closer to your body as you skip your way to the sidewalk. The rain is cold, icy like the season it’s begun to announce, and there’s a mess of browning leaves on the ground you step on with boots that will hate you for this adventure later.  
  
You get to the doors two minutes from closing, and you don’t miss the raised brows you get from the ushers, probably in reference to the wet tips of your hair and the general state of your outfit. But you’re more concerned about why leather jackets don’t have hoods, the one you’re wearing included. The usher even asks if you’d like tissues or a towel, but you shake your head no and insist on moving along.  
  
Hey, that’s less sea salt in your hair, so it’s a win in your book. You decide to wrap it into an only slightly messy top knot and the the end result is surprisingly elegant.  
  
Looking down to where the usher beckons, you see that you’re led next to quite the pleasant looking couple. There’s something familiar about the woman’s eyes, though you’re sure you’ve never seen her before.  
  
You exchange small smiles and you consider going for small talk. But the lights go down just then, and the last you see is that inexplicably familiar eye smile before you both turn your heads to the stage.  
  
It’s evident, a while after the show is in full swing, that you’ve grown a little sensitive in the past few months. It’s the only thing that would explain how you’re sinking to your seat with every tune the cast carries, why you’re overtaken by goosebumps and rubbing at your arms by the end of act one. You can’t blame it on the cast alone, either, the lighting is so nice and so gentle on their faces and their wardrobe and  _this kid is really, really something_  and you kind of want to throw flowers at him —  
  
“He’s great, isn’t he?” you jump half out of your seat at the woman’s voice. It’s beautiful and powerful but in a sweet, soothing way. You blink at her too quickly too many times and she laughs. “It’s strange, I think he’s so different up there,” she goes on, and you have to inch a bit closer to catch all of her words. “But I’m sure he’s happy to be looked at the way you’re looking at him.”  
  
“I’m sure a lot of people look at him like that,” you respond, a bashful smile on your face as you look back to him. You don’t want her to think you’re some silly fan chasing after their idol, but you also don’t know why you’re concerned about what she thinks at all.  
  
She hums at your response and smiles, looking away only momentarily. “No, I wouldn’t say that.”  
  
She doesn’t elaborate and you want to ask how she knows and what she means, but you think better of it and mirror her grin, because it takes only a bit of careful looking to solve the puzzle.  
  
“You must be very proud,” you whisper and she lets out a guilty smile to assure you that she is. You can’t help but smile back as you settle back into your seat, back straightened and chin up.  
  
From then on, it’s kind of hard to focus wholeheartedly on the musical because you’re paying attention to not only the show but also the couple’s reactions. You think this may be the first or second time they’ve seen their son belt out American rock and you think they quite like it, maybe as much as you do.  
  
He looks so much like his mother, it’s ridiculous.  
  
Perhaps not so much now, eyes lined in black and cheekbones contoured so he looks a little more dainty and a little less him. But you can see it in the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles that, much like his family, he has suns for eyes and they’re sultry on your skin.  
  
It’s a nice feeling.  
  
Around the time of the intermission the couple disappears, probably to go greet other personalities at the venue or go backstage or something.  
  
The hall is at full capacity. One too many breaths and the place might be a fire hazard, but you feel comfortable. After grabbing a drink and gathering your wits, you return to your seat, and the show resumes with as much of a bang as it’d left off. Stacee Jaxx is as fun as he was in the preview, and you clutch your handbag closer to yourself to ensure the wrapped bottle of champagne in there is safe and sound.  
  
While you broke your promise to the golden-haired boy, you’d also not come to congratulate Sungwoo on his first night as Mr. Jaxx. Which is why the moment the show ends, his dressing room is your first destination.  
  
The lead’s parents give you a good-natured goodbye before they stroll off, though they’re recognised by a few fans and held back to answer questions about their son and accept congratulatory messages.  
  
You’re singing a congratulatory song yourself as you step inside Sungwoo’s dressing room, and he harmonises with you as he gets hold of plastic flute glasses. You wonder if he’d been prepared, but you see that you were not the only person to have had the champagne idea, and you feel a bit more sullen so your song ends on a rather dull note.  
  
He grabs hold of your bag and unwraps the champagne bottle. Then, he beams. “Where did you find this?” and here you perk up again. While you have terrible memory and are just ghastly at present-picking, you have good taste in wine and spirits.  
  
“I felt bad for not coming to your first night and I had to thank you for sending tonight’s tickets.” It took you several weekends to find this, too. He ruffles your hair and it makes you smile, and instead of popping open the bottle you’d brought in, he grabs another random one for you to drink.  
  
“Mind if I save this for a special occasion?” he asks when you narrow your eyes at him, “or whenever you come to dinner?”  
  
You would never argue against dinner made by Shin Sungwoo, so you purse your lips but hold your flute up. He pours generously and toasts to your health and vocal chords. You can barely swallow your first sip before the musical’s director sweeps into the room, red in the face and a bit sweaty.  
  
“Sungwoo-yah!” he exclaims, as if he just remembered that Sungwoo was in his musical, and he beams some more when he catches sight of you, “Oh! You! Critic kid! Both of you are coming to the party, right? The cars are starting to head over already. Your manager,” he returns to Sungwoo, “he’s out front, you should get to him. I’m about to leave, too.”  
  
Sungwoo stammers for a bit, “I have a flight to catch at 6AM, I don’t think I can—  ”  
  
“Nonsense! You can go to the airport from my house. You’re a rockstar, you can handle it! Now, come on, and bring those,” he motions to the bottles of champagne. “Oh, and do you mind taking some of the cast with you? Dana and Sunday are already kind of,” he makes a clucking sound and a drinking motion with his hand. Sungwoo can’t help laughing and you’re sort of confused. You met this man on his last musical, he’s whimsical and fun and hilarious, which is why this may be his greatest work because that’s what  _Rock of Ages_  is, what it represents.  
  
You’re a bit anxious when Sungwoo claps the older man on the back and agrees to go to the party, pulling you behind him as you collect one more random bottle of champagne and walk through the dressing rooms through the back parking lot. As forecast, Dana and Sunday are giggling with some of the stage managers about the sound of the word ‘bumfuzzle’.  
  
You giggle a little bit, too.

There isn’t much for you to say as you settle into a huge Suburban, but the driver keeps tension to the very minimum by blasting the latest hits at full volume. Dana and Sunday have nearly every choreography memorised, though they stick to upper body dancing.  
  
Even you have to laugh when  _Ring Ding Dong_  comes on, though you’re not too glad the song will be stuck in your head for the next two weeks.  
  
The final destination is much closer than you think, and you’re soon pulling over in front of an immense building in art deco style architecture. Dara and Sunday exit the car quickly, and they don’t wait for the rest of the crew as they rush into the lobby. You don’t mind, really, and you stay in the car till it’s parked, mostly to ensure that Sungwoo doesn’t just leave and at least comes in to say hello.  
  
It’s stopped raining, but the air is thick with chill and moisture as you make your way in. There’s still a bit of petrichor mixed in, too. For a second, you hope wherever this party’s taking place has a balcony or an outer deck of some sort because the night is lovely, especially mixed with this champagne.  
  
The building foyer is nice, black and brass everywhere, and the elevator is as elaborate as the outer gates. You’re fidgety as you take the elevator to the penthouse, the ride up is a little loud and a bit slow, so it’s a relief to walk out and into…  
  
Exactly what one would expect of a celebrity party.  
  
The lighting is minimal, a few stray coloured lights in an otherwise dark room. It’s thick with smoke, there are tall hookahs around the wide living room, and people are already sat around on heavily cushioned low loveseats. There are large silver platters of finger food going around, carried by uniformed men and women. Through their wide and purposeful strides, you’re able to see the expanse of the party. It spreads out to the entire flat and beyond, there’s a staircase that leads to possibly a deck that is still left to be explored and you’re not put off by the chilling air that gusts in every time the door is opened. You instantly mark that spot as your final destination.  
  
But first come formalities.  
  
You haven’t met most of the crew, at least not really. You’ve shared a few conversations with the director, the team of producers and most of the cast, but there hasn’t been enough time for you to meet the rest of the hands on the set. Naturally, it’s what takes up most of the first hour you’re at the party. Sungwoo is horribly patient, he doesn’t mind introducing you at all, and after a while, you discover that he’s taking advantage of the opportunity to make sure he, too, greets everyone…  
  
So no one will notice when he slips away later.  
  
It’s while you’re in the midst of introductions that you catch a glimpse of what may well be the greatest trick to make new friends in a foreign crowd full of celebrities and media staff.  
  
You’re sure he’s one of the production managers. You can tell by the way he looks tense despite his work being done and how he speaks in short, cutting words as if to get the message across as clearly and as quickly as possible. He’s holding a magnum handle of Grey Goose with a pourer attached to the top, and as conversations progress, he pours shots on any empty glasses he sees, short or tall.  
  
The man is still the main cause of your distracted gaze as you’re introduced to other celebrities, among them a group of actors that had been making headlines recently. Everyone’s awfully nice, your hair and eyebrows get complimented at least ten times in just a little while, and you eventually make your way toward where the Grey Goose Man stands.  
  
Conversation sparks immediately. Though you’re not the biggest fan of vodka, you can’t refuse the man when he hands you an empty glass and pours your first shot. And your second.  
  
It’s a minute or two after the third that Sungwoo starts to look around for his road manager, and you don’t miss the signals they exchange once their eyes do find each other. The man, younger than Sungwoo by a few years by the looks of it, brings Sungwoo’s jacket, and you catch the hushed words they exchange as the elder gathers himself to leave.  
  
“Are you having fun? I’m going to head out, but if you’d like, my road manager can stay with you,” he tells you, and then turns to the young man. You sincerely can’t remember his name, and Sungwoo doesn’t supply it, but the man nods and shoots you a friendly smile.  
  
“Careful, though. She’s like family,” there’s a daunting edge to his tone, but he finishes off with a smile that’s very much like the customary Sungwoo, and you’re surprised and grateful. 

“Yes, Hyung-nim!” the younger male nearly yells and bows 90 degrees before Sungwoo glides away. Some people, already affected by shots of vodka and puffs of apple and mint flavoured smoke, scream gratitude and love in his direction and you can’t help but smile.  
  
You’ve been to worse parties.  
  
Eventually the Grey Goose Man shares what he calls his ‘booze job’ with you and hands you a magnum bottle of Jim Beam (which you quite prefer to vodka, so you’re glad), and promptly disappears with some of the people in your circle following behind.  
  
Another group immediately replaces them, and somehow you end up sitting around a giant hookah, clutching the bourbon like it’s a teddy bear around a dozen people. It’s not like you’re bored or intimidated but you’re feeling quiet and woozy, and it’s not just because of the hookah smoke. The director and the main producer appear on either side of you soon enough, looking curious as to how you’ve taken all this in.  
  
The hookah tastes like peaches and roses when it’s handed to you, and it feels thick on your lungs despite the unexpected bliss that fills you everywhere else. The bourbon is warm but welcome as it goes down your throat soon after the smoke comes out. It starts to make you feel sleepy after a while, but pleasantly so. You’re immersed in most of the conversations going off around you, a lot of them about how well the production ended and what projects some members of the crew will be taking up next. A couple are going to England or America to work on productions there, others are working on dramas or movies, and you’re positively enthralled.  
  
Someone asks if you’ve seen the rooftop because they really want to smoke a cigarette but they really don’t want to go alone, and you follow them as they get up and pull you by the clear bottle toward a staircase. You let them lead you up to the rooftop deck, and the noise is mostly muffled up here. From what you can see, there’s almost no one here. You only see the occasional duo or trio gathered taking pictures or snorting cocaine or otherwise engaging in only slightly inhibited intimacy. The boy pulling you by the clear glass lets you go because he recognises someone among the ones with dust on their noses, and you shrug and look to the open French doors. It’s nice and cool outside, and you’re quite tempted to explore.  
  
Again, you’ve been to worse parties.  
  
It’s only when you’re outside that you realise you’ve still got the bourbon in hand. You shrug and even smile a little, tipping the bottle over your mouth to take a few gulps before stepping outside.  
  
The cold is delightful on your skin, even sans jacket. The terrace is made up of dark wooden flooring that creaks under your feet. It’s a wide space with a modestly sized pool, a fully stacked bar that’s currently devoid of people, and a bunch of chaise-longues and sofas wiped clean but visibly damp. You walk towards the bar, and since it’s unmanned, you jump up on the bar top to find a glass. You can’t imagine you look too awesome drinking this stuff straight from the bottle before 2AM.  
  
You’re bending over backwards in search of any kind of glass when you hear footsteps in the vicinity. You ignore them, mostly because you’ve just spotted a tall glass and you think the cooler might have ice in it because you feel cold air against your forearm. You manage to retrieve the glass and discover there is ice in the cooler once you pull it open. You’re swinging your legs in the air with absolute elation, pouring yourself a decent amount before setting the bottle down.  
  
The weather is nice, the drink is nice, everything’s nice, so you feel like adding one more kind of poison to the mix. There’s a fresh pack of cigarettes in your free hand, which belonged to the boy who pulled you in here, and they’re coincidentally your preferred kind. In seconds one of them sits between your lips, and you retrieve the golden Zippo and bring it to life.  
  
“Got a light?”  
  
You nearly fall over, your heart jumping to your throat and the cigarette nearly falling from your lips. Almost, but you have good instincts and remind yourself to puff and breathe out as your eyes scan the familiar figure of Lee Jinki. He’s still in stage makeup and basically wearing the same outfit, only he traded out the denim jacket for leather and the graphic tee to a plain black one. His hair is still coiled at the tips and it brushes the nape of his neck with the lilt of his step, and you find you don’t care that you’re staring. It doesn’t look like he minds, either.  
  
You throw him his lighter and he catches it effortlessly, just like it happened before, and he approaches you with light footsteps and a smirk.  
  
“Fancy seeing you here,” he says, watching as you cross your ankles and rest your free hand on the edge of the bar. Just like you did weeks ago.  
  
“Ditto. Could’ve announced yourself, you know.”  
  
Jinki shrugs, lights his cigarette and comes closer to snatch your glass. “I wasn’t exactly quiet,” he defends, taking a swig of bourbon and swatting your hand away when you try to take your glass back. “I don’t know why I’m here, either. This sort of thing is kind of below me, isn’t it?”  
  
Queue eyeroll.  
  
“What are you doing here, though?  
  
“Free country,” you finally manage to take back your glass and take a hearty sip that’s more on the side of a gulp. You don’t quite come to terms with how fast your heart is beating. Jinki shouldn’t have any kind of effect on you, but somehow he’s getting on your nerves already. “I also didn’t want to hang on to other people’s trinkets, and I had a feeling you’d be here,” you add, raising your glass in his direction and taking another gulp that’s more like a swig.  
  
“And here I thought it was just your way of telling me to quit,” here he inhales deeply and blows all of the smoke directly at you, and you roll your eyes again.  
  
"I wasn’t aware you’d put so much thought into it,” your voice is a monotone and you think you see him blush, but he covers it up quickly and turns to you with a grin.  
  
“Are you sure you didn’t take it because you want me to protect my lungs?”  
  
Here you scoff, and even he’s feeling a bit embarrassed.  “I’m not your mother,” you raise the cigarette to your lips. As if you had enough time to worry about his glass lungs. “I did meet her tonight, though. You must’ve gotten the crudeness from someone else.”  
  
The playful look on Jinki’s face gets deeper and his mouth twists into a simper as he reaches out to catch your glass one more time. He fails, but he’s standing closer to you now and he can peer into your eyes much better from here. This is just so funny, it’s so funny how the world feels so astoundingly small where you walk.  
  
“So it was you sitting next to her,” he starts, and you know that by the arrogance in his voice that another smartass line is coming.  He’s sensing a pattern. It’s almost like everyone you meet has such an unexpectedly deep impression of you that they just have to say something, and things about you have been coming to his ears too often too quickly.  
  
“Why, did she say something about me?” you remember how flushed your face had been, how you’d tripped over your words not once but quite a few times, and you hope to every deity whatever she told him isn’t too embarrassing.  
  
“Just that you’re cute.”  
  
You let out the smallest huff of air, then lift your cigarette to your lips to cover it up. She could’ve said a wealth of things, you don’t mind being called just cute. Feeling somewhat relaxed, you take the glass of bourbon to your lips and let some of the cool liquid slip past them.  
  
“And that you were looking at me like I was the sunset.”  
  
Obviously, you choke and he bursts out laughing. Of course he’d wait until you started drinking to drop the bomb. Your heart starts hammering against your ribcage as you try to not cough up your lungs, and Jinki’s laughter dissipates until he finds himself obligated to walk closer to you and pat a hand against your back.  
  
“Get away from me, asshole,” you manage between hacks, knocking the hand on your back with a violent shake of your shoulders, but he’s not letting up, “I’ll kick you!”  
  
“Stop talking,” his laughter is picking up again, this is too funny not to laugh because you look so offended, “stop talking or you’ll end up puking, just calm down.”  
  
You’re tempted to swing the magnum bottle against the side of his head, but you refrain, lifting your heeled boot in his direction instead. “Did she actually say that?”  
  
There’s a single moment of silence in which you think he considers his options a bit more carefully than usual, and you really hope he’s making this up.  
  
“She did~” he smiles sheepishly, there’s so much teeth that his eyes are basically not there anymore; he looks more like the synthetic image you have of him so you’re dazzled and distracted. “I do have to agree with her, though. You’re one of my cutest fans.”  
  
“I’m not your fan, we clarified this,” you drink some more bourbon, having to clear your throat several times. Your whole trachea feels raw from coughing, so you grab the wooden ashtray that sits about a foot to your side and stub your cigarette there. You should really quit, anyway.  
  
“But you were looking at me like I was the sunset, right?”  
  
“Whatever, okay?” You make it a point to avoid his gaze and purse your lips to stop a guilty smile from making an entrance. He sees it anyway, how the corners of your eyes sparkle for just a moment before you look away from him completely.  
  
The air’s starting to get colder than can be considered pleasant. Your head is swimming and every noise around you feels like it’s echoing in the space between your temples and you just want to lie back and look at the sky. This is usually the point when you feel playful and a little daring (not counting almost coughing up your innards), but this is a dangerous place to let anything happen. So you hand your glass to Jinki, watch him sip the rest of the dark golden liquid.  
  
If you said you didn’t want to take your chances with him, you’d be full of shit. You rest your hands on the wood and lean back, swinging your crossed ankles again, thinking you may not be that brave. What if you jumped in that pool instead? Well, you’d freeze your ass. But maybe it’d clear your head a little bit.  
  
It’s just that you’re so aware of Jinki right now, even without looking at him. There’s a weird aura about him, it shines and it’s so alluring. Something about him is so vague, almost a little scary. He only looks like a pretty idol but he’s not pretty, he’s—he’s something alright, you just haven’t figured out what yet.  
  
“Party too noisy for you downstairs?”  
  
That’s a great question, and for some reason you find it really funny. You don’t have enough energy for animosity, so you smile. “I usually like the noise. But I wanted to get out here,” you answer, “it’s nice.”  
  
He has to agree, this is nice. Though it might be better if he had two more drinks down. Maybe then he’d have less to worry about and he’d feel like when he goes to see Changsun hyung. Or maybe he’d feel like when Key sneaks white wine into the dorm even though they’re training every day and under a strict dietary regimen. You make him feel reckless and it’s dangerous because he doesn’t know you, but it’s so exciting just to think about what could happen if he did.  
  
“Can you hold your liquor, though?” he’s half-smiling and condescending, because he’s the kind of person that can but still pushes himself to the limit. To him, alcohol is always just a tool to forget, to escape, never to just  _feel_ , and he’s so jealous of how affectionately the intoxication dusts your cheeks. “I’m not carrying anyone home if they pass out.”  
  
“Don’t you worry,” you say dismissively, and once again it bugs him that you’re avoiding a name, “I can hold my liquor very well, and I wouldn’t ask you for help even if I got alcohol poisoning.”  
  
“Ouch.”  
  
You shrug, hoping he knows you’re not entirely serious. “Relax, I’m not going to get alcohol poisoning,” you’ve started to giggle because he looks truly annoyed.  
  
You even add a smile for effect, and he crosses his arms and looks away to the city skyline. Because you feel only a little guilty about hurting his pride, you take the magnum handle in hand and move it in his direction until he’s compelled to turn around. His glass is empty, anyway.  
  
He offers you said glass but you shake your head, beckoning him to come closer even though the bottle’s a bit too heavy for you to hold in one hand. He gives you narrowed eyes and an unimpressed look because he catches your drift and steps closer, tipping his head back slightly and opening his mouth.  
  
You’ve got a pourer for a reason, after all.  
  
The sound the liquid makes as it fills his mouth is _fucking hilarious_. It makes you laugh surprisingly hard, so a little bit of the steady stream of alcohol manages to slip down his jaw and to his neck, until he ultimately grabs the bottle and takes it from his face.  
  
Before he can scold you, and you can tell he will when his eyes turn dark and his cheeks flush redder, you lock your ankles behind his back and pull him closer, reaching out toward his face with the long sleeves of your dress pulled over your wrists.  
  
“Worth it,” you giggle as you pat the stream of liquor dry, and Jinki’s not particularly fond of strangers touching him, but he can only smile and gulp down. The skin of his neck is on fire, but he wants to feel more. The fondness in your eyes doesn’t feel deep enough, and he doesn’t know why he’s so greedy but for some reason it’s pivotal that you like him, actually like him.  
  
He feels even lighter when you brush strands of his hair away from his face, and you look at him a little more affectionately, it’s intimate and it makes him feel like he’s on top of the world.  
  
You’re so cute when you’re drunk. You’re so cute all the time.  
  
In the moment, you don’t think you realise that you’re touching his hair, much softer than you initially imagined. You’re kind of jealous because your own hair is laden with sea salt and craving a soak under your shower. His hair is soft, really soft, though there’s a bit too much hairspray at the ends. It’s still so soft, so nice, and his skin is quite soft, too…  
  
The look in your eyes warms and his heart is beating a little faster and he thinks he may finally be able to open up, it feels like a lifetime since he last felt genuine, but—    
  
“Do you do this with every guy you meet?”  
  
But his mouth fucks everything up for him every fucking time.  
  
Does he have to resort to being an asshole whenever he gets nervous? Who takes anything seriously after four shots anyway?  
  
Your hands drop from his face and you reach out to take the bourbon. He juggles it out of your reach, but he’s clumsy and the bottle ends up sliding  all the way to the other side of the bar top. You squeal when it nearly falls over, but it stops just before hitting perilous territory. You consider moving over to get it, but you feel kind of trapped with Jinki in front of you, giving you that look that screams ‘what are you going to do now?’.    
  
So you purse your lips, unhooking your legs so they’re not touching him at all, though he quite liked the contact. “Fine, whatever.”  
  
You turn around to the bar because it’s full of booze and you could go for a change of aftertaste; Jim Beam isn’t the same without tonic. "I’ll just go around here,” you lean back. The bottles nearest to you are of whiskey, rum, vodka, peppermint Schnapps… and icy Moët inside one of the coolers.  
  
 _Jackpot_.  
  
“What have we here?” you lean back to catch the bottle, just within your reach…   
  
Jinki would’ve been fine watching you fall and possibly break a tooth. He’d do the same for his best friend, too, but he kind of can’t. He’s reaching out to you when he sees you’ve bent too far back. You’re going to fall for sure if he doesn’t do something. His hands are on your hips and he’s clutching at your dress like it’ll save your life and you…  
  
You just sit back up with the big bottle, two flutes in your hands, and a deeply puzzled look on your face.  
  
“Do you do this with every girl you meet?”  
  
You’re smiling, blinking your eyes at him blankly like it’ll remind him of his place and yours, too. You’re trying to mask any reaction to his hands, which are clutching you a little too snugly for comfort. And one would think the booze might make you less sensitive to him, but nope, and your smile stretches because you’re not sure what else to say or do.  
  
“I just thought you might fall,” he defends, dropping his arms to his sides a second too late and taking a step back. He might’ve looked too much into how delicate you look, how fragile. “You make it easy to worry about you.”  
  
You laugh carelessly, and it makes him a little angry because it sounds like mockery. “That’s because you hate that I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”  
  
That’s pretty much the last straw. “You,” his tone is back to ice cold, like it was when he thought you were with the press, “you really don’t like me, do you?”  
  
You start to laugh again and he looks to be getting angrier by the second. Boys sound so much dumber when you’re drunk; Jinki is so amusing and you’re so bored. For some reason you love to see him this upset, you like getting this kind of reaction from him.  
  
“You,” you mirror his tone and point a stern finger at him, “you’re really dumb. Do you think I’d waste my time playing games with you if I didn’t like you?”  
  
Fair point, but his eyes still narrow with curiosity, with cunning.  
  
“So… you do like me?”  
  
You sigh, the rawness in your throat is gone and you really want some cold bubbly as consolation for almost coughing up the lining of your esophagus. “Get up here,” you tap your palm against the spot next to you at the bar top, “I’m tired of arguing and I want to get more drunk.”  
  
“Is that a yes? Otherwise you’d have told me to fuck off, right?”  
  
“I won’t offer twice.”  
  
Then he moves out of your direct line of sight, and in seconds you feel the warmth of his body heat radiating at your side. Deciding to let the conversation drift for a little bit, you look down at the Moët and start undressing the top of the bottle till the cork is in plain sight.  
  
“Would you like to do the honors?” you offer the boy with pretty hair, and he looks bashful for once.  
  
He starts shaking the bottle, a bit too much for your liking, and your nose crinkles up even though you’re smiling a bit.  
  
“I really hope you’re not planning on spraying Moët all over the place.”  
  
“Why would I possibly do that?” Jinki’s setting his thumb under the thick of the cork, and you hear the bubbling before you see it. In one, two, you hear the unmistakeable  _pop_  and he’s turning the bottle towards you and you should have seen this coming and you try to open your mouth to say something, anything just _he wouldn’t dare_ —    
  
In his defense, you walked right into that one.  
  
Your eyes are screwed shut and you feel a drizzle that’s hardly light before you jump off the bar top. It pisses you off and it doesn’t, you’re already full of seawater and rain and your clothes smell like roses and peaches and burnt tobacco and champagne really is the cherry on top. Jinki’s coming after you so you try to get even, grabbing the beak of the bottle to try to tilt it in his direction. It works, but only for a moment because the bubbles die down and there’s only drinking left to do, then Jinki’s bringing the bottle against his mouth because he’s not wasting any more of this stuff.  
  
When you wipe at your eyes and peer at him, there’s a billion dollar smile on his face and you are most definitely smiling back. Actually, only about a fourth of the bottle sprayed out, so you’re not even mad about the mess he’s made.    
  
“Thanks, Jinki,” your eyes are squinting to exaggerate your smile, and you take the bottle from his grasp and chug some down immediately. “Champagne is definitely one of the things I don’t mind getting all over my face.” Your joke is met with no response, not even a snort, so you open your eyes fully to gauge his reaction.  
  
Wait, why is he looking at you like that?  
  
“What?” you ask when the look on his face turns downright daydreamy. He doesn’t answer, just smirks and shakes his head, looks at you with warmer eyes.  
  
And then he tries to slip the champagne from your hands, but you can see through him and you’re quick to move it out of his reach.  
  
“Oho, I don’t think so,” you tease, holding the bottle behind your back and taking a few paces back, “you already drank your part or otherwise sprayed right here,” and you move your free hand around your face, pressing your palm against your chin for added appeal.  
  
“Did I?” he follows you, watches as you nod and take another swig. His eyes are sharp but he’s mostly amused as he nears you. You’re backing up against the bar and setting the bottle on the bar top, directly behind you, because you probably don’t look so hot chugging Moët from the bottle before 2AM, and he starts to smile wider.  
  
“And now you can’t get it back~”  
  
“I’m sure I can find a way,” his strides are long, quicker than you expect them to be and it makes you giggle because you don’t know how he’ll get himself out of this. He drops his barely-smoked cigarette on the ground and you’re about to ask him about it when he crosses into your personal space and you’re still laughing and his hands are on your waist and he’s leaning in and you’re not moving away.  
  
He’s kissing you and he tastes like how it feels when you take the first sip of a really warm drink on a really cold day; he’s warm but still cool on the edges and it’s addictive and it feels so right. You taste a hint of tobacco and nicotine in him and smile against his lips because this is wonderful, so wonderful. Right now he’s just Jinki, unreservedly. You can tell he’s not hiding, that he doesn’t want to anymore. It shows in the way he clutches at your hips and keeps you close until the bar top is pressing against your back. You don’t mind the slight pain at all, you’re still taking all of him in and that’s all that matters to you. He shifts, breathes in deep and his hand comes around to rest just under your jaw, and a swipe of his tongue is all it takes for you to melt, though you leave a gentle bite on his lower lip the moment you can, and you melt some more when he hums into your mouth. Adrenaline shocks you everywhere he touches, against your hip bones and your neck and when he bites at your upper lip.  
  
But you can’t let him have complete control, so your hands go around his own neck and up its nape until your fingers are lost in his hair. There are few greater pleasures in the modern world than this one, and the low groan that slips from his throat when you pull at the strands is one of them.  
  
His heart is beating at a violent rate, like it does in the last minute before a show or a concert starts and when it’s over, but this is different. Right now, he feels completely separate from Onew. Like this is what Lee Jinki is supposed to be doing, at his age and in this moment. Twenty-two and totally clueless, looking for all kinds of trouble and finding it, getting lost in all the right places and doing only most of the wrong things. How could he resist, after all, when every time he sees your face it’s like it’s the first and it’s somehow dazzling to him every single time? There’s something gorgeous and daunting about how dark your eyebrows are compared to the greyish white of your hair and the searing red of your dress and it drives him crazy, it’s been driving him crazy since the press call for this musical. You remind him of fire and ashes, though he can’t tell yet if you’re ablaze or just beginning to grow from an ashen ember. He’s looking for answers but it’s hard to focus when you tug a little harder on his hair and force him to put not more than an inch between your lips.  
  
Because you can hear voices. A large group of people are coming out to the terrace, and Jinki’s glad to find you pay more attention than he does because in seconds you grab his arm and steer him towards the side of the bar.  
  
You’re right at the edge of the deck and you’re sure no one can spot you unless they’re really looking because it’s pitch dark here. But you still press Jinki against the wooden wall here for extra security.  
  
He’s really not complaining.  
  
You’re still panting and trying not to, and Jinki’s biceps are rock solid under your fingertips and it’s hard to not want to teleport to literally any place but here. His hands feel hot on your hips and he’s trying to get you to move closer and not even you can believe how much you want to, and you can’t help but chuckle when he presses wet lips against the curve of your jaw and your collarbones. But you still lean back to peek at the rest of the deck, where about fifteen people are starting to sit around the pool and the chaise-longs. You’re far enough so that you can’t really distinguish who’s out there or what they’re saying, but given where you are and who you’re with, it’s always better to be safe than sorry.  
  
Jinki doesn’t seem to think so. He locks his hands around your back and pulls you fully against him and you stumble, chuckling when he whines because you’re still acting as a lookout and he really doesn’t want this to be over yet.  
  
“Aren’t you glad I wasn’t wearing any lipstick?”  
  
Your voice is nice when you whisper, it’s the dreamiest undertone he’s ever heard. “Only a little bit.” He wouldn’t have cared, anyway.  
  
The wind picks up and you shiver, feeling goosebumps rise on every patch of your exposed skin. You rub your hands on your upper arm, and though belatedly, Jinki manages to pull you by the wrists till they’re under his jacket and around his waist and your head is on his chest and his arms are around you. He’s warm, so deliciously warm and right and even though you’re laughing, you’re still second guessing yourself and him, too.

“Of all people I could ever want to be involved with… ”  
  
 _It had to be you._  
  
Your words aren’t hostile, they’re friendly, and Jinki knows why you say them. But it doesn’t make it any less painful to hear. It was nice while it lasted, but now he’s got to start hiding, putting up walls, sneaking around. Dating is never easy but it’s especially hard when there are probing eyes everywhere, looking for faults and weaknesses; uttering words that cut and casting glares that kill. So he rests his chin atop your head and twirls his fingers on the tips of your hair, hoping you can hear his erratic heart rate because he really can’t comfort you any other way right now.  
  
It’s less cold and you want to confirm that there’s no one nearby, so you look over to find Sungwoo’s road manager coming out, looking around for… well, probably you. He’s holding your jacket and purse, too.  
  
“My ride’s here,” you say with an air of finality, and your eyes are met with a very pouty, visibly upset young man.  
  
“I’ll take you home,” he proposes, and it sounds solid but you’re sober enough to know that it’s not how it flies.  
  
“Jinki,” he beams because it sounds so nice when you say it, and his hand lands on your cheek and his thumb draws tiny lines on your soft skin, “you debuted two years ago. If they even suspect that you’re with someone, they’ll like, take me to court and sue me for defamation or something.”  
  
Oh, right. His label does have a dating ban thing for the first four years of their contract. He doesn’t want to go through what Jonghyun went through, but he also really doesn’t want to part ways with you again, not when there is so much more about you he wants to know, so much more he wants to feel.    
  
You notice the lost look in his eyes and chuckle; you’re both really in way over your heads here. “Alright, I’m going to head out first. Wait here at least two minutes, okay?” you look up at him and it’s obvious he doesn’t like this plan at all and it makes you laugh a little.  
  
You don’t make the rules. It’s just bad timing.  
  
Sungwoo’s manager is getting closer and you’re stepping away from Jinki. It doesn’t feel right when his arms drop from your frame, and it almost hurts when you shoot him the most disarming smile as if to apologise.  
  
“I want to see you again,” his statement is firm and real, but you think he’s just saying this in the heat of the moment.  
  
“Maybe— ”  
  
“ _Don’t_ ,” he’s close again, so close you can feel his breathing ghost on your moistened lips. “Don’t say that. You said that last time,” he’s a little bitter about it, too, and it makes you smile. You really can’t say anything else, you’re not making any promises you can’t keep. He’s still waiting for an answer when your hand lands on his chest, though his eyes flutter shut when you lean in till you can touch his nose to your own.  
  
“I’m sorry,” you say, and kiss him like you mean it because you do, because you’re already attached to his warmth and his lips and the way he touches you. But before he can cage you in his arms again, the truss is broken and you’re looking up at him with those sad eyes and he can’t stop you because he finally understands. “Good luck.”  
  
And you’re gone.  

  
  
> _[y](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DjJWkYod0tkg&t=NWFhNTQyN2EyZmZiMmNhMTA4NTQxMGViYjc3NDVhMWEyNmZlOWE0MSxvZkFsSXJCcA%3D%3D&b=t%3AcXtpvFymmD9Dd4fNv0MUqQ&p=https%3A%2F%2Fhitchhikingbabeh.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F141179241933%2Fsaudade-t&m=1)ou’re yearning, wearing thin, searching for something_  
  
There’s something weird about the walk to your front door. You feel like there’s something waiting for you as you step inside, and it’s not something unpleasant. The air of the place seems so real, suddenly. It’s as if you’ve just realised just how alone it feels with just your feet padding its floors, only your scent filling the expanse between its walls. But there’s also something else, and you find the first traces of it a few paces into the entryway. You’re not surprised at the sight, really. It even makes you smile as you look around your empty kitchen and living room and move for your bedroom.  
  
All the lights are off and you have no intention of turning them on, so you take off your jacket and drop your purse on the first flat surface you come across. The ominous aura you’ve been feeling is coming from the bed, and you make out the outline of someone you didn’t expect but should have been expecting before you climb onto it, though you won’t burrow under the covers just yet.  
  
You take a deep breath, let it out, and then you feel more movement.  
  
“Hi.”  
  
You’re not screaming at all even though he was sure he’d scare the living shit out of you. But you only chuckle and settle more comfortably on the foreign feeling bed. “Hi, Taemin.”  
  
“Did someone tell you I was here?”  
  
“You left your shoes by the door.”  
  
Idiot.  
  
He shifts on the bed, and a pang to your stomach reminds you of the person who usually stirs by your side and there’s a sharper pain in your chest. It hurts more than you could have imagined, at least until Taemin turns on the lamp on the nightstand next to him and turns back to you with his sparkling stern eyes.  
  
“Why haven’t you picked up any of my calls or answered my texts?”  
  
He hates that you’ve ignored him for the larger part of this entire ordeal, that you’ve avoided all contact with him despite the fact he’s probably the only person who can counsel you properly because Kibum loves Jinki too much and Minho’s too busy to help.  
  
“Did you eat?”  
  
“Don’t change the subject.”  
  
He expects it when you sigh, even when you turn your back to him. So he props himself up on one elbow and rests his head on his palm, and he grabs and pulls on your hipbone to make you lie on your back. “Why didn’t you call me back? Did you not want me to scold you yet?”  
  
“Can we not do this?”  
  
“You’re going to continue to fuck this up if we don’t do this,” he’s using that tone with you. The one he reserves only for people he hates that he loves, the people he can’t help but want to protect, and you’re scornful.  
  
“Oh, is that what I’m doing?”  
  
Did he have to show up now and play voice of reason? You don’t want to have this conversation, and you know he knows. Taemin’s not touching you anymore but you feel caged and you hate it, you hate that you can’t escape this because you know it’s for your own good.  
  
“Don’t pretend you’re not,” he grabs you by the hem of your shirt when you try to get out of bed, “stop it. Stop this, just stop.”  
  
“What do you want from me, Taemin?”  
  
You sit up and so does he, and he sighs because he expected you to be touchy but he doesn’t want to start a fight, not with how vulnerable he knows you are.  
  
“Just get level with me for a little bit. I want you to talk to me honestly. No bullshit, no pretending. Okay?”  
  
It takes you a moment to answer. Taemin is probably the person who knows the most about where you stand and where Jinki stands, where you both came from.  
  
“Fine.”  
  
“Why did you let it get this bad?”  
  
Because it felt right. It felt like the only thing you could do, so it must have been the right thing to do.

But you’re not ready to tell him that.  
  
“What did he tell you? When he first called you, what did he say?”  
  
Taemin hesitates, first because he’s angry that you’re avoiding talking about how you feel and he hates it when you do that. Then his eyes are narrow on yours because it’s not his place to answer. He truly believes the answer to those questions should come from Jinki’s mouth and not his.  
  
“Taemin, please tell me,” your voice is trembling and it surprises even you, “someone has to tell me how it got to this. Why did he cheat? Did he tell you?”  
  
Another pause, and then his expression is resolute. “Yes.”  
  
“Did you know beforehand?”  
  
It’s not his place to answer, but if he doesn’t, you’ll be even angrier. “There wasn’t a beforehand, it wasn’t something he planned… he didn’t even consider it until he did.” His tone tells you he’s not trying to defend Jinki, because you know that’s not how they earned each other’s trust, but he’s being too careful.  
  
This is not how he wanted this conversation to go.  
  
“Let’s go outside, I brought beer and soju.”  
  
“I hate beer and soju.”  
  
The look he gives you tells you to shut the fuck up and follow as he leaves the room, and you do so with pursed lips. This means that he can’t say what he wants to say sober, but he feels that you need to know. And you don’t really hate beer and soju, he knows you’re just being difficult and cynical.  
  
You gather on the floor around your coffee table in the living room, and Taemin’s brought shot glasses from the dorm because he knows you don’t have any here.  
  
“How is your solo album stuff going?”  
  
Taemin snorts as he pops open the beer. “Is that really what you should be asking right now?”  
  
But you shrug, and in the end he tells you that he got SM to give him that old composition by Bruno Mars he showed you ages ago as his title track. You smile and squeeze his shoulder supportively, taking the first soju shot straight as soon as Taemin pours it, and he glares at you instantly.  
  
“Wait for me, asshole. I want to get drunk, too.”  
  
Taemin likes to say that he hates drinking. He says it even in front of his lifelong best friends, but you know it’s not entirely true. Everyone explodes and everyone has an outlet of the alcoholic kind, Taemin is just slightly different.  
  
It’s not that he doesn’t like to drink, it’s just he doesn’t like being drunk around boring drunks, or around bad drunks in general. That’s why he only drinks when he’s with his core squad, Moonkyu, Jongin and Wonshik, with Kibum or with you. Because you all make getting and being drunk about stress release and, in his words, feeling  _zen_.  
  
So you smile and wait till he’s poured soju and beer on both glasses, and he clinks his with yours. He’s smiling a little bit as he gulps it down because he needs to do some de-stressing of his own.  
  
You wish at least one of the friends you had in Korea wasn’t associated with Jinki or with the idol industry. When you meet Taemin’s eyes, you want to think that he’s just a neighborhood kid, someone you met while you were moving in because you were carrying boxes that were twice your size and he wanted to help even though they probably weighed five times as much as he did. You can see it so clearly, because Lee Taemin hates makeup, wears the same track pants for days, hates the idea of styling his hair or wearing what he calls ‘real people shoes’.  
  
But Jinki, SM, industry staff, music shows and broadcast stations are all you’ve known for years.  
  
And here he crawls back into the crevices of your brain, and you want to forget.   
  
Another pair of baekju bombs, and Taemin hooks his phone to your speakers and [A](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3Dv73ECi8ou8g&t=OGQxNDcyNDQzMWNiNDc1MzAzMTdlYmJiYzdmNzMzOWU3NDRhZTkxMSxvZkFsSXJCcA%3D%3D&b=t%3AcXtpvFymmD9Dd4fNv0MUqQ&p=https%3A%2F%2Fhitchhikingbabeh.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F141179241933%2Fsaudade-t&m=1)ugust Alsina is playing soon after. Typical, but comforting. Two more.  
  
“Why did you have to go hook up with  _Jonghyun_  of all people?”  
  
It’s not coming out of nowhere, which is why you only sigh in response. “Why did I have to get cheated on by  _Jinki_  of all people?”  
  
“Good point,” and Taemin clinks his glass with yours supportively. “But you do admit that at least a part of hooking up with Jonghyun was to get back at Jinki for cheating.”  
  
It’s not a question, so you don’t find the need to answer. You’d rather not, anyway, you don’t want to refute or defend the statement.  
  
“And it is totally fair to say that you’re overfucking this shitstorm at least a little bit.”  
  
You nod and watch as he mixes golden yellow fizzy with the cold, laconic flow of soju and you don’t feel as horrible as you could. “Is there any right way to deal with this?”  
  
“Of course not, the three of you are fucking up majorly.”  
  
Your eyes are telling him to elaborate, but he downs one more shot before going on.  
  
“I’m going to have to ask for immunity for the next like, five minutes,” he starts, facing you fully after refilling his glass, “you can’t get mad, and you can’t throw anything at me until after I’m done talking. Just please promise you’ll listen, you know I hate hurting you. I just think there are some things you need to hear and you may not like most of them.”  
  
He thinks he sees your eyes start to water, and suddenly there’s burning in the back of his own. If there was any alternative to this he’d happily take it, but he has to do this if he wants the chaos to at least settle.  
  
“The truth is, you love anyone who loves you. You always have, you love when people look at you with exclusive affection. That’s how you and I got to know each other, because you noticed that I liked you more than anyone else in that dumb set, you knew that you’d gotten under my skin before I even noticed,” his voice is giving you flashbacks to that time and it makes you smile because you’re grateful to have met him then. “Even if it was never romantic or anything, you got off on that. Am I right or am I right?”  
  
“Right. But I wasn’t subtle about it, and neither were you.”  
  
Fair, and Taemin smiles a little wider. 

“Jinki is the prime example of that. At the beginning, I know you made him think that you didn’t like him, but you fell in love with him the moment you first saw him, didn’t you?” this hurts a lot, he can see the pain in your eyes so clearly. 

“And you noticed he fell for at least the idea of you after seeing you for like, two seconds. Believe me, he is legitimately ten times crazier about you now than he was back then. That’s why he doesn’t want to let go. You know he would’ve otherwise.”  
  
You’re not grateful for the reminder, but you nod anyway because he’s right.  
  
“He doesn’t care that you slept with Jonghyun,” it sounds ugly, dirty, the way he says it, and your heart hurts more, “it doesn’t change anything. We all know how it’s going to play out and you’re both just going to end up hurting each other.”  
  
You don’t want to hear this. The alcohol is making smiling easier and August Alsina makes you want to drink more and maybe go to a club and you don’t want to argue with Taemin because the tips of your fingers are tingly and it’d be nice to lean on his shoulder right now.  
  
“I’m not saying Jonghyun doesn’t care about you,” his voice is getting sweeter, and you believe him but you want him to stop, so he gives you a moment to breathe. Then he sighs, and it means that he doesn’t want to tell you what he’s about to tell you but he has to.  
  
“I’ve known Kim Jonghyun since I was a kid. I don’t want to downplay his feelings but I know how he is. He’s going to get busier because that’s what happens. He’ll make another album, maybe book some concerts, and that’ll be on top of SHINee and Blue Night activities.”  
  
Your eyes are watering some more and he wants to reach out to touch your cheek but he’s not done yet. Just a little longer.  
  
“He’s going to start keeping things from you because he won’t want to make you worry. He likes you because you’re an escape from his job, which is his whole life. But soon enough, he’ll keep everything related to work from you because it’s the only way you’ll stay an escape, the only way you won’t think you’re a burden. But you will be. Jonghyun lives to work, he’ll always choose work and you may not care right now but you will, and you’ll hate him for it.”  
  
“Jinki would also choose work over me.”  
  
“It’s not the same.”  
  
“Why are you taking his side?”  
  
“I’m taking  _your_  side!”  
  
“Oh, man, yeah, I really feel that right now,” you down the rest of your glass and grab the half-full bottle of soju sitting between you, tipping it over your lips almost immediately.  
  
He calls your name and it sounds like a plea, and when you slam the now empty bottle of soju on the table, he takes your face in his hands.  
  
“You don’t have to love him because he loves you.”  
  
 _Jonghyun loves you._  Jonghyun loves you and you don’t know if you love him like he loves you, like Jinki loves, loved, loves you.  
  
“I don’t want to tell you how you feel but just think about this. How do you really feel about Jonghyun?”  
  
You love him. How do you love him?    
  
“How do you really feel about Jinki, today, right now, right this second?”  
  
You love Jinki. You have, you have been in love with him for so long. Why do you still love him?  
  
But this is not the right time, you don’t want to choose yet but Taemin is starting fires all over your brain and it’s hard to put them all out. Where’s your Ambien? You could really use some sleep right now.  
  
“Jinki hasn’t been himself at all, as you could have guessed. He doesn’t sleep more than an hour, ever since that night. Management have tried to slip him sleeping pills but that never works on him. He’s been chain smoking for hours and drinking like a maniac and I swear I’ve never seen him get this bad. The last time he was like this was when he—”  
  
You clutch his hands with your own and it makes him stop, this is your way of telling him he’s going too far. So he bites down on his lower lip and watches you pat tears dry and refill shot glasses before cheering to nothing and gulping down.  
  
“He knows we know he’s doing this both to cope and to get your attention. I’m not saying you should go to him because I want you to get back together,” his voice is so much softer now, but it makes you feel ashamed and you can’t look him in the eyes anymore, “I want you to talk to him because you’ll never know why this happened otherwise, and I think you need to hear it.”  
  
“What if I don’t want to?”  
  
The smile Taemin gives you is so familiar, it’s the kind you get from your relatives when you do something helplessly innocent or when you look clueless.  
  
“If you didn’t want to, you’d have left already.”


	4. Corcovado

> _[n](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DVJvPkqULlvM&t=NWJhNDNiYTVhZDY5NzZiZDgyOWU1MTJjYzU4NjRmM2E0NjJlM2U1NixXakVtS0pJbg%3D%3D&b=t%3AcXtpvFymmD9Dd4fNv0MUqQ&p=https%3A%2F%2Fhitchhikingbabeh.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F142426846643%2Fcorcovado-t&m=1)ever floated off to find some real escape_

New York is gorgeous. There’s something magical about every street corner, though it’s nearly always too cold or too gray, in some cases too dirty and too smelly. Yet you’ve grown so fond of every borough, of sitting on the subway in the mornings and on late nights. Arguably, what you love the most about New York City is taking walks around the parks, especially around West Village where you always seem to find your way around despite knowing very little of the area.  
  
You love New York City. And you need to leave.

The wanderlust has been kicking at your insides for months. It’s been three years and you need to leave. Funnily enough, you felt the exact same thing three years ago, when a letter with a promise for a great degree and so much opportunity knocked on your door. It only took you two days to make the call, and six weeks later you were gone.  
  
It’s not like you don’t care for the friends you’ve made here, some of which are all staying here for one more year, and it’s not like you’re not grateful for every job you’ve worked here, every internship, every party and every hangover and every one night stand and every walk of shame.  
  
It’s just time.  
  
Commencement is hell, but it passes by you in a flash. Your dress is flawless, you made it yourself with friends who were studying fashion design at a prestigious nearby university, and your hair looks right up to par, longer and in its natural colour because you tired of hydrogen peroxide a long time ago. Your scalp is grateful for it, to say the least. Your makeup is no less awesome, as you’ve picked up a thing or two while here.  
  
You sit in the commencement hall for five hours, your mind racing because you’re thinking about where you’ll go next, what waits for you there. Should you go to Korea? Or should you just book it and go to Europe? Start a trip from Russia and somehow make it to Turkey, swim the Bosporus Strait and hike to Portugal, hop on a plane to South America?  
  
In three years, you’ve seen a whole new world. Fourteen countries and counting and there’s no stopping you when you get that itch. Your friends hate you for it but you’re so grateful. You’re happy to have memories of having seen so many sights and people, to have known so many scents, to have walked so many different grounds, having felt so many soils under your feet. But the truth has settled in your mind and you can’t shake it anymore. You’ve learned everything you can, and you hate to linger.  
  
Moments before they start calling your major, you get an email that tells you why there’s been an unsettling anxiety picking at the back of your brain, at the base of your spine and the tips of your fingers.  
  
Someone you haven’t spoken to in years can’t take an amazing gig (or, should you say an amazingly  _paid_  gig, because the job itself doesn’t have great rap), and she’s recommending you to do it. You’ve gained good ground in Korea, having worked the three major networks for a TV show each in the summers you spent there. The email is an invitation, and your fingers are moving to respond before you finish reading the whole message.  
  
Your name is called just as you confirm purchase of a one-way ticket to Incheon.

* * *

You landed two hours ago and the chaos has already started.  
  
The main producer has called you eleven times since the plane touched down, and when you do pick up, she yells about about whether you think that having studied abroad makes you any more special. She adds, quite aggressively, that you’re the youngest of the PDs and that you should be grateful they hired you as the head of the show’s first unit. There’s a meeting that you can barely make it in time to where she declares she’ll share the details of your title, and the sigh that leaves your mouth as you cart your bags out of baggage claim feels like it has an entire world in it.  
  
A sigh of equal exasperation leaves your lips when you see that arrivals is fucking swarmed with women of all ages and photographers with cameras as long as your arms and you think you may just turn around and get a ticket back to the States.  
  
Until you read one of the myriad signs the squealing girls are holding up.  
  
Man, you’ve only been here forty minutes and he’s already everywhere. You turn around only out of reflex, and surely enough, there he is. There they all are, in fact, and you want to cry because he looks really,  _really_  good. There’s a stinging pain in your chest that reminds you of the times that you would think about him in America. It happened whenever you found yourself without a lighter, whenever you heard the flick of a Zippo, when you got really drunk or any other kind of intoxicated and let your brain drift for too long…  
  
But you decide to book it. You run as fast as your boots can get you, and you almost cry when you spot a single empty cab waiting for you at the taxi stand.  
  
When you get to MBC, the meeting is five minutes in. Luckily enough, the main PD is not only screaming about you being late, but also about the lead talent being late, so you take the opportunity to look over the gigantic file she slams on the table when you sit down and start to leaf through the pages.  
  
This show is unscripted… but they seem to have every episode planned out in detail, and there are even suggested dialogue lines. This is not really what you expected out of a reality show…  
  
And then you spot the names of the leading couple.  
  
Your forehead lands on top of all of the papers and you really thought it wouldn’t hurt, but suddenly your heart is starting to ache and your bloodstream feels like it’s ¼ blood and ¾ anxiety and just  _why_? Why you, of all people?  
  
“Sorry I’m late! Hello, Kang PD,” you don’t look up and you don’t know this voice but you know this name and it feels like karma is coming to bite you in the ass. You’ve avoided this for so long and so well, does this have to happen now?  
  
“Ah, Taemin-ssi! Welcome, please take a seat. We’re just getting started. This is going to be the head PD for your unit,” your elder points at you but you haven’t raised your head, and you have no intention to until she mutters that you should say your greetings and you groan.  
  
So you stand up and meet his doe eyes and something in the base of your throat really hurts, but you give him a small bow.  
  
“Hi, there. Let’s work hard.” Throw in a smile too wide to be real and a thumbs up before looking away and back to the ‘script’. You wish you’d stayed in school an extra year. Maybe it would’ve better prepared you for this.

* * *

Turns out, doing this show is more fun than you thought. It’s the sixth week of shooting and people are finally starting to treat you like a PD and not a rookie because the other units conveniently forget your title but never your age.  
  
But Taemin makes it okay.  
  
“Good morning~”  
  
His voice makes you smile and it’s real, it’s the realest thing about this entire production and you’re so grateful. So you look over your shoulder and throw him some red bean bread, which he catches expertly and squeals at because it’s still warm.  
  
He knew what he was signing up for when he got the call. This year has been anything but quiet; with two albums released in one year, it’s only fitting networks try to milk as much of their success as possible. He’d submitted his profile to this terrible show eons ago, mainly as a joke and because he thought it’d be fun.  
  
Turns out it’s only fun when the cameras are off, mostly because of his unit staff.  
  
“I can’t believe they put me in charge of you,” you say as he takes a seat opposite you, and Taemin grins. You have a feeling they’re going to fire you any second now, because you never give Taemin the ‘suggested’ scripts the writers give you, and you never make him do anything he doesn’t want to do. Which means you get shit from the staff at least once every two hours, but you don’t care. You’d actually benefit from them firing you; the staff from Sketchbook at KBS are dying for a fresh set of hands and you already interned there a summer ago. You know they’d take you in a heartbeat.  
  
But you’d hate to abandon Taemin here, where everyone and their mother is trying to make him act like someone he’s not. So you persevere. Most of the time you try to make it fun and it’s mildly enjoyable, but there are times where you can’t trample the voice of authority.  
  
Otherwise you’re happy to know Taemin. He’s the only person who feels like a friend and treats you like one, too, despite the fact that he’s a rampant celebrity and you’re just some nobody from New York. You’re happy to be hanging out with people your own age again, too.  
  
So in order to repay him, you fight every decision made on the show regarding content. You let Taemin do as he pleases. When the big bosses ask him to do something, he does excellent work of performing brilliantly and insolently, and you couldn’t be more proud. Taemin’s only ever onboard to do actually fun things, which often lands him in a lot of trouble.  
  
Although half of the staff is cursing at him under their breaths because he tends to take the words ‘shake things up’ into his own hands, you personally find it hilarious when he gets up to one of his tricks and actually succeeds. Even 2nd unit has to laugh a little bit even though Naeun is kind of crying about how he coerced her into breaking a clay mold they’d been holding hands for twenty minutes for.  
  
Son Naeun is really the sweetest thing, though you feel like you should know her better, and you would if 2nd unit and her managers weren’t so adamant about keeping her away from Taemin even when there aren’t any cameras on. Taemin feels kind of bad, and even you feel a bit heartbroken when he confesses that it’s probably because SHINee fans have had a lot of colourful things to say about her since they started to film the show. That, and tabloids are crawling into any and every corner of Seoul, circling the young celebrities like vultures looking for skeletons to dig up and print (or upload) in big, bolded letters.   
  
“I think they should be more worried about you,” he quips when you bring up said tabloids, who’d shown up at the site you’d just left. And you smile, because he has a point; you’re both much closer than anyone in the crew expected you to be.  
  
You owe it to the narrow gap in age and your general low levels of give-a-fuckness.  
  
The fact that you sneak in white wine whenever possible and share it with him after the rest of the unit are gone might also be a part of it. Never having told him about your previous encounters with SHINee or any other idols helps, too, because Taemin thinks of you as a total outsider and it’s comforting to him.  
  
You’re anonymous under the PD title, almost untouchable, and Taemin is surprisingly grateful for that. 

He’s not super glad, however, to get called a son of a bitch by the 2nd unit PDs, and he only finds out because you tell him. You’d walked past the soundstage while they were recording Naeun’s interview segment, and it looks like she’s crying but you can’t really tell. The 2nd unit PD is too glad to jump at the opportunity to curse at Taemin, who’s as threatening as a stuffed animal, and you’re surprisingly upset. That day Taemin feels especially crappy, so after wrap, he lies down on the ‘bed’ of the newlywed house bedroom and sulks for at least an hour before you’re officially concerned.  
  
So you come over with banana milk and some cookies. He opens one eye a fraction to scan what’s in your hands, and then he groans. “Why do you always bring banana milk? You should bring something manlier, like Red Bull or something.”  
  
“Taemin, there’s no such thing as a ‘manly’ drink, just take this and tell me what’s wrong,” you lie beside him, though the bed can only fit one comfortably, and he smiles as he punches a straw into the milk bottle and takes a few gulps.  
  
“I hate finding out about what people hate about me,” he confesses, and you can do little else but nod, because you understand. You have a more constructive approach to this kind of thing, but Taemin… Taemin doesn’t take well to words laced with poison, unless they leave his own mouth.  
  
“If it helps,” you add, because you don’t like to make it look like you know anything about Taemin (though other people know much less, he’s just complicated like that), “there’s very little people can actually hate about you.”  
  
He smiles because he knows that you’re genuine, and because your voice always reminds him of the sound of waves crashing on sandy shores in the summer, even when your attitude isn’t always as warm.  
  
“You’re basically unhateable,” and you don’t only refer to him, everyone who’s friends with Taemin is really hard to hate. “So never mind them, just don’t bother with it. I’m sure you can work it out with Naeun if you talk to her before the next recording, right?”  
  
You only ask because Taemin doesn’t like it when people assume things about him or about what he’s about to do. He’s always been really receptive to what you say and how you say it, and you’d hate to sound anything but supportive right now.  
  
“I guess I should try and meet her outside of this shit show, shouldn’t I?”  
  
He looks at you helplessly, like he really doesn’t know what to do, and now you think you understand why he’s considered the ‘nation’s maknae’. He’s so used to being babied, to being eased into things rather than being thrown into them.  
  
“You know her at least a little more than I do,” you respond, and he makes some more space for you to lie more comfortably. It’s amazing how skinny Taemin is, so much so that you can actually lie on your back comfortably and he can lie on his side and there’s still space between you.  
  
At least until Taemin swings a leg over both of yours.  
  
“Why don’t they set up We Got Married with non-celebrities? You’d be great on-screen.”  
  
“Gross. We’d kill each other.”  
  
“But it’d be more fun.”  
  
You make a face of mild disgust. Taemin’s toes tickle your calves, which makes your face contort further, to which he laughs.  
  
“You’re also not my type,” you go on with pure honesty, and you see that Taemin can tell, so he smiles even wider. This is probably his favourite facet of you. The one that doesn’t even try to pretend, the one that is purely you and no one else; the one that he likes the most out of everyone he’s met in the TV industry, really.  
  
“Nonsense. I’m everyone’s type.”  
  
Taemin is… special. You didn’t really believe in platonic best friends until you met him, and it makes a lot of sense now. How people always see you together and assume that you’re in love with him and ask you the moment they can because he’s famous for being unbelievably pretty and you’re the main ulzzang of the WGM set. Taemin get teased by being told that ‘the ulzzang PD likes you, kid, isn’t that embarrassing?’, but he assures the staff that you’d really rather drown in quicksand than entertain a relationship with him.  
  
There’s nothing either of you can say in terms of compatibility, but there’s no actual connection beyond a platonic one. In terms of attractiveness… Taemin has a thing where he can look at people with sensuous eyes and he can look… like a dude. It’s bizarre, because sometimes he catches you staring and you don’t look entirely enthralled, like other people do, you just look befuddled. He thinks it’s cute.  
  
He just doesn’t know that it reminds you of someone else, someone you really would rather not think about in his vicinity. Because he’s already in every corner of your brain when you’re not working.  
  
So you lie with Taemin and don’t say anything else. There’s no particular thing he wants to hear from you and you don’t really want to be with him in front of cameras, even if they’re off.  
  
Which reminds you of something else completely.  
  
You glance at the time on your phone before looking back at Taemin, who looks like he’s about to fall asleep. “How come your manager hasn’t come to sweep you away yet?”  
  
Taemin purses his lips and it’s pitiful. Handling album promotions and filming this show is taking a piece right out of his soul; he can now navigate any broadcast station blindfolded, maybe even drunk.  
  
“He should be here any minute. Let’s nap, though, I’m so tired,” and you watch as he drifts off, it takes less than five minutes. Taemin makes this weird noise sometimes, when he’s too tired to sleep like a celebrity. Somehow he’s come to trust you and trust that he can be himself because you’ll protect him.  
  
Not that he’s ever told you outright, but he’s never really had to tell you anything. Sometimes you just know. And when you don’t, it’s fun to watch you scramble around for his thoughts. 

“You nap,” you insist, but you’re starting to really rest your head now, “I have work to do.”  
  
You do have work to do, you’re supposed to be in the editing booth supervising, but you’re also so tired. Taemin’s schedule is completely fucked, and you’ve both been up for almost 2 days, with little naps thrown in here and there. It’s barely 1PM but you haven’t seen the light of day properly in ages. Not to mention you’ve had to battle the rest of the crew against trying to direct Taemin on how to act and what to say in the show. Not only because that’s your job, but because this is supposed to be unscripted.  
  
You’re still ranting in your mind about it all when you feel your eyes flutter shut, and the words echoing inside your head become longer and thicker after a few minutes, until they dissolve into nothing, or everything, you’re not sure which.  
  
Taemin doesn’t think you feel it at all when he gets up because one of the production assistants calls out to him, which can only mean his manager just pulled in to take him wherever he needs to be next.

* * *

When you wake up, it’s been about thirty minutes. You rise with a start and look down at your wristwatch, and then you look around for your phone to discover that—    
  
“I’m going to kill him,” you sigh, spotting two phones at your side because Taemin forgot his, again. It’s like the third time already. As if you had some sort of telepathic connection with him, said phone starts to ring, and the contact name reads ‘ _Jongman Hyung_ ’.  
  
You pick up expecting to hear a flat, slightly demanding voice asking you to return the phone, but what you hear is something totally different.  
  
“Do you love me?”  
  
“No,” but you’re lying, you’re totally lying. “Where are you?”  
  
Taemin laughs because he knows your heart and only asks in the off chance that you’ll actually say yes. “I’m about to go in to record a radio show. Can you bring it over after we’re done?”  
  
“Taemin, I have to go get ready for a wedding later. Can I just drop it off at your dorms or something?” you’re heading out of the studio and to the parking lot but you’re thinking about it now, you know his schedule and he won’t be free until 2AM today. So you retract. “Nevermind. Where are you going to be in two hours?”  
  
“Probably wrapping up pre-recordings for M!Countdown. Will you come?”  
  
You sigh. “Yes, but you have to take me out for dinner wherever I want this weekend.”  
  
“Deal.”  
  
“It’s going to be far and expensive.”  
  
“I’ll drive.”  
  
Famous friends are great. Rich and famous friends, however, can’t be beat.  
  
The drive home is tedious but quick, for some reason the city is particularly loud today. The wedding you’re set to attend isn’t a huge deal, a Korean friend from uni is getting married and you can’t not show up. You also spent a few paychecks on the dress you’re wearing because Koreans don’t do casual weddings, and since you’re bound to run into a lot of former classmates, you obviously want to look your best.  
  
The first thing you do when you get home is grab curlers from your vanity, and you try to get your hair nice and tied up before you step into the shower. The hot water is relaxing on your skin and you space out as the hot jets hit your back because it’d be really nice to just relax for at least one hour…  
  
Maybe you should’ve gotten fucked up more often in college. If you had, maybe you’d be hungrier for more stress, more work. Sleep wasn’t something you valued much while you were studying, because everything about the urgency of preparing for the future had you going a thousand miles per second. But now things are moving particularly slowly, and you have no idea how to make them speed up.  
  
After appropriate exfoliation and thorough clean up, there’s too much steam in the bathroom to really breathe. You’re out and in your bedroom minutes later, toothbrush hanging from your mouth as you head towards your closet.  
  
Mnet is totally out of your way, but you can’t just send anyone to get Taemin’s phone to him, you really should go yourself. The best you can do now is head over and hope he won’t be done when you get there so you’ll be able to drop it off with a manager and get going.  
  
Not that you ever had that kind of luck, but one can dream.  
  
Setting your dress down atop your bed, you consider that this is perhaps the best outfit for you to accomplish the exploits roaming free in your head. Rami Kadi is a couture deity, and this little red number is almost as audacious as you are. It looks innocent at the front, a gorgeous and glimmering coral red. The neck line is horizontal, covering everything up to your collarbones. The back is a different story though, with a dangerously low cut that displays the nape of your neck all the way to the lowest bit of your lumbar region in the shape of a diamond.  Your shoes are arguably your favourite part, as they are the sharpest, most beautiful Louboutin pumps you have ever laid eyes on. These were actually a present from Taemin (that you picked out weeks in advance) for your birthday this year.  
  
Rich and famous friends really can’t be beat.  
  
Thinking on it a little harder, it’s kind of amazing how close you are to him. Even more spectacular is the fact that you’ve managed to never talk about Jinki, ever. You have told him about your time as a theatre critic apprentice, but you’d always leave names out, and Taemin’s never been one to ask too many questions when it comes to other celebrities. He still brings Jinki up sometimes, tells you about little things he does now and then, and he still hasn’t noticed how you turn red and tense up and change the subject as smoothly as possible. You suppose that it’s for the best… but it’s only a matter of time, isn’t it?  
  
Can anyone blame you for hiding, though? He was just a hookup, right? Just like those other ones you had in college that you wanted to forget about the next morning. Sometimes you managed it, you even forgot their names by the time you walked out their doors (or yours, in some cases)…  
  
But Jinki’s persistent. Because you didn’t want to forget about him the next morning. Or ever, for that matter.  
  
Your hands are shaking a little bit when you pat your dress down and walk over to your vanity to grab your makeup. Sighs are all that come out of your mouth as you ease primer and foundation onto your skin, and you’re biting your lips as you carefully slide bronzer up your cheekbones and under your jaw and up your temples. Eye shadow is always your favourite part but you can’t enjoy patting gold on your lids. Eyeliner is also usually fun, but you don’t pay a lot of mind to it, either.  
  
Lips are never not fun, though, and your mood lightens as you smooth crimson red onto your mouth. Seconds later, you’re tugging off the curlers in your hair and the bouncy mess that falls to your shoulders is a great confidence boost, too.  
  
You step into the Louboutins and hope to the heavens that there’s a bucketful of champagne waiting for you at that wedding reception. A spritz of Chanel and one more look at your clutch to confirm that you have your cards, phone and slim cigarettes handy and you’re out.  
  
Against your better judgement, you call Taemin’s manager when you’re cruising into the CJ E&M Centre Studio parking lot. He picks up at the first ring and tells you that the boys are still recording and that you should just come by their dressing room, and that there’s a guest badge waiting for you at the reception in the main building lobby.  
  
Beautiful. You thank the manager heavily and park in the guest spot nearest the entrance, and it’s almost too smooth how you get to the M!Countdown recording and broadcasting studios. In fact, you get around the dressing rooms just fine, not a camera in sight even though it’s usually crazy in here. The staff nod and only glance at your badge before going about their business, and you find a door with a large “SHINee” sign in minutes.  
  
Careful fingers curl around the doorknob, and you push it open to find the room completely empty.  
  
 _Perfect_ , you can just leave it anywhere and go, you’re late to the wedding ceremony and really have to leave, anyway.  
  
The door opens just after you set the phone down, and one of the managers comes inside. Thankfully, you know him. It’s the same one who often brings Taemin over to MBC, and you exchange friendly smiles.  
  
“I’m sorry about him, he’s always so forgetful,” the manager says politely, “I hope it wasn’t too much trouble for you to come here.”  
  
“Not at all! I was heading somewhere and this just happened to be on my way,” lies, but he’s too nice to be annoyed at.  
  
“It looks like you’re going somewhere important,” you hate small talk and you want to leave before anyone else comes in but you still chuckle at the young man’s words, “are you off to a party or a wedding?”  
  
“A wedding, actually,” another chortle, “and I’m pretty late so I should get going. It was nice to see you again and good luck at the awards show tonight!” You just remembered that the reason why Taemin isn’t getting off ‘till 2AM is because some major awards show is going on tonight.  
  
You bow politely to the manager before turning on your heel towards the door, and you wonder if you should text Taemin a good luck message later, or if you’ll be home before the awards show ends so you can watch it. Music shows and award shows have never really been attractive to you, they look exhausting to film and even more exhausting to edit and they just make you dizzy sometimes—  
  
There are no hands on that doorknob but it’s starting to twist, and you reflexively take a step back because the door is opening; there are voices coming from outside and you look up and you’ve never wanted the ground to swallow you whole more in your entire lifetime because the first thing your eyes are met with are the eyes of none other than Lee Jinki.  
  
Because he is currently squashing you between the floor and the weight of his body (which you really don’t mind). At least he’s frozen solid on the spot, hand on the floor beside your head to keep him slightly upright because it took him only a moment to recognise you.  
  
“You-Your hair is long.”  
  
His words are mighty delayed, his eyes darting between your own and your nose and your mouth and your hairline, but you don’t mind at all because his expression is kind of endearing. You’ve only ever been in the presence of a shy Jinki once before; you don’t even notice how the cold floors on your back give you goosebumps and it could be the glare of your dress on his pristinely made up face but his cheeks are stained red.  
  
Taemin’s eyebrows furrow at the words of the eldest, and his face becomes even further confused when you let out the tiniest laugh.  
  
“And yours is short.”  
  
He also smells really nice. Like something fresh and woody and just a bit smoky, like a really early autumn morning.  
  
No formalities are present in any of your words, and the four pairs of ears and eyes within earshot and eyesight are perplexed and a little amused. But you say no more as the pretty blond hoists himself back to his feet, and gives you a hand for you to hold and do the same. Before you can take it, though, Taemin’s grabbing at your shoulders to pull you up and he’s chuckling, apologising for the incident and calling it a classic case of ‘Onew sangtae’.  
  
You take a few steps back after remembering yourself because you know that’s not what just happened, and you watch as the rest of the group, two managers and the entire styling team file into the room.

Quite a crowd for the introduction you know is about to come out of Lee Taemin’s mouth.   
  
“This is the PD from WGM that I’ve been talking about,” Taemin’s chest is puffed out and his head is held high as he shares your name and places his hand against your bare back and it’s really hot, which makes you extra uncomfortable, “she’s been suffering a lot with me.” He leans closer to you to ask where his phone is, and you finally rip your eyes from the sharp-eyed blond to point at Taemin’s phone on the table behind you.  
  
You bow twice, it’s awkward both times and Taemin makes an offhand comment about shooting a few episodes with Minho, Key and Jonghyun in a few weeks. It’s actually on your schedule, so your work smile slips right on and you look at the other boys in the eyes before bowing again. “Looking forward to working with all of you! I’ll be, uh, going on now,” and you turn around to shoot narrowed eyes at Taemin, “please stop leaving your phone lying around.”  
  
But Taemin pouts and you laugh and he winks, and the group files further into the room to make way for you to leave. You’re holding your breath as you bow one last time and walk out of the room; your lungs don’t get a sliver of air even when you’re out in the hall and nearly in the clear—    
  
But if your irregular heart rate and inability to breathe properly are any indication, it doesn’t feel like you’re in the clear.  
  
When you feel a hand at your elbow, you don’t flinch. You don’t even blink, and turn on your heel eerily slowly because you fear the head of blond you feel behind you but it’s not— it’s not Jinki.  
  
Despite the fact that Taemin has told you about his ‘tiny’ Jonghyun hyung a thousand times, you find him to be just slightly below average height. Somehow, he still seems big, wide, though that can mostly be credited to his shoulders and the whole aura of him. He’s holding out your clutch when your eyes follow the path of his face, down his neck to his arms.  
  
You don’t really care about how fit a guy is, but you think he should be on ads for fitness centres all over the globe.  
  
“S-sorry,” you stammer, holding your hand out timidly to take back your clutch. The older boy laughs and it startles you a little.  
  
“Taemin’s clumsiness must be rubbing off on you. Be careful,” his voice matches and doesn’t match him, it’s throaty and a little hoarse and deep and shallow at once and you open your mouth to answer but nothing comes out.  
  
In the end, you can’t help but laugh. “I will, sorry about that.”  
  
“You’re cuter than I expected. Taemin has told us a lot about you,” you look over his shoulder only for a moment, and you see the blur of yellowish blond that you know and fear and your gears are set on leaving again. You force out another chortle and look back to the man, only a few inches taller than you with these heels on.  
  
“Uh, thank you. Then, I’ll leave you to keep working. Good luck today!” You bow and you sound relaxed but you’re not, and you look over Jonghyun’s shoulder again to find Jinki coming out of the room and turning in your direction. You don’t wait for an answer from the slimmer blond, instead turning on your heel and sprinting back to the guest parking lot.  
  
Jonghyun is still smiling even though he thinks your leaving like that was a little rude. 

You’re really cute.  
  
When you’re seated behind the wheel of your car, you have to take several deep breaths to ground yourself. You barely manage it, and soon enough you start to cruise out of the building and you’re feeling less anxious.

Then your phone rings, and you curse loudly because Taemin definitely caught on, you were way too obvious and he noticed and he knows everything, or even worse, Jinki told him everything—

_isn’t that dress a little too sexy for a wedding?_

You laugh loudly and throw your phone over to the passenger seat.

That’s the least of your fucking concerns.

 

> _[o](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DCwpARGF4Zmk&t=YjQ2NTgxMjdjMGUxZGNhYmNkYTRkZmMzZmIxNzkzNDUzNDExYjUzYyxXakVtS0pJbg%3D%3D&b=t%3AcXtpvFymmD9Dd4fNv0MUqQ&p=https%3A%2F%2Fhitchhikingbabeh.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F142426846643%2Fcorcovado-t&m=1)h, greed got to me, holding on and on_  
  
After Taemin leaves your house, you don’t see him until November is coming to a close. In fact, you see very few faces until the first week of December, as your only movements are from your apartment to KBS and back. But something about the bitter, snow-less cold makes you think of those faces you’ve gone too long without seeing.  
  
Jinki is everywhere. He’s on TV and on posters around shops and on the radio and just fucking  _everywhere_. It’s been a long time since their last comeback, but they’re still all over town and on SNS. Taemin has blond hair again, and Kibum has lost so much weight. Minho’s made, released and promoted a drama, and Jonghyun… you haven’t seen Jonghyun in weeks. The last time you saw him was when Taemin guested for one of his Agit concerts, and a part of you only goes because Taemin basically drags you by the hand. Another much darker part of you goes because you hate being alone, and this is as close to being the opposite as you can take right now.  
  
Taemin was naturally right. Like fucking clockwork, Jonghyun wrapped SHINee promotions just to go and release a new solo album, and he’s scheduled to have another set of Agit concerts pretty soon. He hasn’t been able to send anything but a text or make a short phone call to you since the first time you went to the garden studio.  
  
Every time he contacts you, it’s to apologise. And you hate it.  
  
Tonight, as you drive home from KBS, you get another apology text. Something dangerous bubbles inside you, a deep desire to get on a plane and leave the country, no, the continent, for at least a few weeks. Don’t you deserve a fucking break from this?  
  
But then you see three dots pop up under his message, and you refrain.  
  
 _I know I have no right to ask you this, but could you come over after Blue Night is done?_  
  
You want to say no, genuinely. In fact, you chant quiet rejections under your breath until you hit a red light, time by which you raise your phone to level with your eyes with every intention of typing out a detailed refusal.  
  
 _Sure._  
  
The little voice in your head that advises against this kind of thing sounds a lot like Kibum. It warns you that you’re only doing this because you’re lonely and Jonghyun doesn’t deserve that. But you argue with it, because Jjong has always been more than just someone that makes you feel un-lonely. Regardless of any kind of labels, Jonghyun is someone who’s always been very dear to you, right?  
  
Why are you only now starting to doubt yourself?  
  
Three more dots and you’re out of your head, smiling because you missed being this kind of torn.  
  
Jonghyun won’t be wrapping Blue Night up until at least 2AM, knowing him. Also knowing him, he’ll have taken little naps throughout the day to keep himself at least mildly alive, so there’s a very good chance that he’ll be staying up the whole night.  
  
So in order to be able to properly hang, you decide go home and nap until it’s time. Which doesn’t entirely happen.  
  
Sleeping has been difficult, to say the least. You made the move from the couch to the bed only a week ago, because your back is killing you and you’ve never been grateful for how sunlight fills the living room at the first sign of the day.  
  
The bed isn’t as bad as you thought it would be. You have no memories with it, just a mildly unpleasant association. Sometimes you look at the back of your bedroom door and remember how you slumped against it a few months ago, and it hurts. But it helps when you’re weak and need comforting.  
  
And the winter has made you so weak.  
  
Everywhere in the house is cold, just how you like it, and you hate warmer spots because they remind you of who you used to spend cold days and nights with. But you need these patches of warmth, the bed is still too big, too empty when you’re thinking too much about the wrong things.  
  
You hate missing him, but you can never stop yourself from doing it, from thinking that you want to turn back time. So you reach out for the prescription bottle on your nightstand, pop it open, and swallow two pills, because the only thing you can do now is make time fast forward.  
  
Within twenty minutes, you’re out like a light.  
  
There aren’t any silhouettes moving behind your eyelids; you haven’t had any dreams since that late summer night and you’re kind of grateful. It doesn’t make you look forward to sleep much, because you’re still afraid of the faces you might encounter.  
  
You try to not fight the meds because if you do, you’ll start sleepwalking. But they do the job you need them to do, and you wake up with time to spare to shower and get dressed to head to MBC.  
  
Traffic is smooth but it’s slow at certain spots, and you don’t realise when you heave a sigh, only catching yourself when your hands are running through your hair with a little more exasperation than this merits.  
  
You hate avoiding confrontation. You hate evading the argument that you know will solve things. That’s why you face everything head on, but now… all of this has made you such a wimp. After a certain time, your brain stops filtering the voice that overpowers the rest, the one begging you much like Taemin did to  _talk to him_ , because talking to him will at least give you a chance at closure. At most…  
  
By this point, something silences it. Either it’s pills, a bottle of wine, you’ll do anything to get it to shut up. Jinki doesn’t deserve to see you yet, no matter how much you want to see him. Jinki doesn’t deserve a conversation right now, because you know exactly how it’s going to go. You won’t give in just yet, you just want to be immature a little bit longer.  
  
Jonghyun is waiting by the studio exit to the parking lot when you’re let inside. The moment you find his eyes, all voices fall quiet.  
  
Kim Jonghyun is an unbelievable kind of handsome. He always looks a-class, like the Korean rock star meets biker dude meets flower boy that you know and love, especially now that his hair has gotten darker. He always looks good, always on point, but  _holy fuck_ , his cheeks are so hollow. You know it’s not this outfit that’s making him look borderline anorexic, and you know it’s not his makeup that makes his cheekbones look so sharp it looks painful.  
  
Work is killing him, and he’s enjoying it.  
  
He opens the door quickly, almost jumps on the front seat before he kisses your cheek, though not without smirking at your pretty shirt dress. “Let’s go,” he urges, setting down his messenger bag and pocketing his phone. You give him a smile and cruise out as swiftly as you cruised in, and you spare him another look before getting back into busier streets.  
  
“What’s the rush?”  
  
“I didn’t tell my manager I was going home, and I don’t want him to follow me,” he chortles, fingers dancing on the skin of your wrist before he holds your free hand. “I’m supposed to be staying at the dorms,” he goes on, and you chuckle. “I can’t be there one more night. I miss my house, I miss my mother, I miss my sister and I miss my… I miss you.”  
  
You shoot him another smile and he gives your hand a squeeze. “I’m sorry for being away for so long, I suck at balance.” You raise a hand to make him shut up and shake your head for emphasis.  
  
“Don’t bring it up, it’s okay. The important thing is that we found a hole in your ridiculous schedule so I can yell at you about all the things you’re not doing. Starting with eating,” he lets out the tiniest whimper, and it’s clear he doesn’t want to have this conversation.  
  
“You know how I get when I’m really stressed out. I just… I don’t have much of an appetite, I actually don’t have time for an appetite.”  
  
He managed to spare a whole night for you, though. And for some reason, you don’t like that he’s willing to make this sort of sacrifice. So you decide you’ll just use this to your advantage.  
  
“Well, now that you’re kind of free, let’s go eat something. I’m fucking starving, and I know you love late night snacks,” you tease as you stop at a red light. Jonghyun makes sure no lights hit him directly, as some sasaengs like to follow him after Blue Night. He’s sure no one saw him leave for the parking lot when he did, and he prays there’s no one waiting when he gets home.  
  
Hopefully, giving his manager the slip won’t blow up in his face. He’s still looking forward to tonight though, and doesn’t have to give you directions to his favourite Korean junk food joint, since you’ve already been there a handful of times.    
  
He takes the wheel while you go to pick up tteokbokki and fried fish cakes, and it’s not one second after you shut the door when you’re back that he speeds back out. He mutters something about his manager finding him and fans following him and you decide to not make the snarky comment at the tip of your tongue.  
  
Why is he in such a hurry, anyway? He’s not usually like this.  
  
In less than ten minutes, you’re pulling into Jonghyun’s driveway. The first thing you notice is that all the lights are shut off, and that Sodam’s car is nowhere in sight.  
  
“Noona got a paid vacation from the broadcast station. She took mom along,” Jonghyun says before you can ask, and you don’t add anything as he hurries you into the house. You actually don’t say a word until you’re sat in the dining table, late night snacks still steaming.  
  
Because that’s when Jonghyun really tries to relax.  
  
“Hi,” he says suddenly, after catching your eyes and staring for a few quiet moments. You nod back and feed him some rice cakes, because you don’t like his tone.  
  
“Are you tired?”  
  
“Not really.”  
  
“You napped at the radio station, didn’t you?  
  
“I was like an hour early,” he smiles with too much teeth and inches closer to you for extra appeal. You nudge him away with your shoulder and he grabs your chair to pull you closer to him. He moves for the rice cake and fish cake combo between your chopsticks before you can stop him, and you nudge him again, this time with a smile.  
  
“What do you want to do?” he finally grabs his own set of chopsticks and starts to eat more openly.  
  
“Whatever you want to do.”  
  
He bounces his eyebrows at you and you roll your eyes, still smiling. “Eat,” you command, and he nods and obeys. Ten minutes go by quietly and both of your stomachs are unfairly full. You come to a wordless agreement that you should at least try to sleep some more. After all, you have work in four hours and he has to be at a broadcast station in six.  
  
Somehow, he manages to convince you to allow him twenty minutes on his laptop to get some writing done. He doesn’t say what for, but you watch him quietly from the other side of his bedroom, eventually tip-toeing off to sneak into his closet. After slipping one of his giant hoodies over your head, you step back to the bedroom and sit on the edge of the bed.  
  
Jonghyun is going off on his keyboard, slamming down keys faster than you even could. You slowly progress from sitting at the edge of the bed to getting on your stomach with your face propped up in your hands, until you’re totally lounging and watching him mess around Pro Tools.  
  
What is he doing?  
  
You decide not to pry because he even has headphones in, and you wonder why you even agreed to let him stall sleep. You see a lot of yourself in him right now, because this is how you are when you’re in production and you don’t want to take this moment away from him.  
  
So you wait for a whole hour before you’re actually getting drowsy. Even then you don’t call out to him because he’s twirling on the office chair he’s sitting on and biting down on his lower lip, which means he’s on a roll and that you shouldn’t interrupt. Then he starts bobbing his head and his hands come off the keyboard for the first time in ages, which tells you he could actually be done doing whatever he wanted to do.  
  
You’re guessing this is why he wanted to go home, because he wouldn’t be able to work in peace at the dorms. It stings a little bit because you don’t want to think about why he might not feel comfortable there for any reasons other than the usual ones, but you don’t dwell on it for too long because you’re already so sleepy.  
  
So you slowly make your way over to the desk, careful as to not make a single sound.  
  
Jonghyun doesn’t jump when you snake your arms around his chest, but he does chuckle a little nervously. “It’s been ten years already, time to sleep,” you coo, and he sways against your touch with more affection than you expect.  
  
“Okay,” he whispers, and he sounds almost like a child. He takes your joined hands into his own as he gets up, and you continue to sway back to bed, dancing to a tune he only knows because he probably just finished composing it.  
  
And then your phone rings, because you can never get a single second of quiet in this city.  
  
“What?”  
  
It’s Taemin, and the loud music you hear instead of his usual lazy greeting makes you groan.  
  
“ _I’m soooo fucking drunk_ , I told Jongin we wouldn’t get drunk but I totally fuckin’  _lied_ , if you come pick me up I will love you even more forever, also can I sleep at your house?  I don’t want the managers to see me until like two days from now— ” he can’t hear you but you’re laughing a little bit.  
  
“Where the hell are you? It’s so loud there,” you respond conversationally, and you can almost hear the smile in Taemin’s voice because your tone tells him that you’ll come pick up his belligerent ass.  
  
“Some club, that one that we went to after that show like forever ago, you know the one,” and you snort a laugh, already looking around for your shoes as Jonghyun pouts at you.  
  
You put Taemin on speakerphone so Jjong understands what’s going on, and he only smiles. “We’re in Hongdae, in that club — hyung!  _Hyung_! What’s the name of this club? Pension? Mansion! That’s the one.”  
  
You don’t know what it is about Taemin and your relationship to him that always puts you in the nurturing position, but you don’t even consider not running to wherever he is. You wait for him to tell you exactly where this club is, and as soon as you register the general address, you’re looking around for your car keys.  
  
It’s like nothing has changed since 2013.  
  
Jonghyun is silent up until the moment you’ve swapped out his hoodie for a jacket (his, too) and get back to the doorstep.  
  
“I actually should come,” he says, mostly because he can’t settle for spending just about two hours with you after all this time, “Taemin can be a handful when he’s drunk.”  
  
Don’t you fucking know it, and you grin at the shred of concern on Jonghyun’s face.  
  
“It’s okay, I can handle him,” you say, meaning to comfort him, but he holds your hand tighter and pouts. “C’mon, do you really want to risk it with like five celebrities in one place?”  
  
He shrugs, pulling on your hand and getting hold of your car keys. “I haven’t gone out driving for a while, anyway.” He could also really use a drink right now, but he omits that bit as you smile and swing your joined hands as you walk out the front door.  
  
Why didn’t Taemin just take a cab? He doesn’t ponder on the thought for too long, and he’s happy to find that Seoul is less crowded than he expected for a Thursday at 3AM. He’s wearing a snapback that’s too big for his head and some glasses, and he’s hoping this whim won’t bite him in the ass. Then it occurs to him that this is what he always thinks about whenever he’s around you, because you like to entertain these kinds of affairs so much.  
  
He parks near the club, having cruised back to confirm that there’s a mile long line to get in (but he knows that he only needs to show his face to the bouncer to get in without much of a hassle). He gives you the hat and glasses to wear, and doesn’t touch you but steers you towards the establishment.  
  
Sometimes you really hate that they’re celebrities, and this is one of the main reasons why.  
  
Surely enough, the bouncers get high and mighty when you try to cut the line. But Jonghyun looks up, shoots the burly man a smile, and the doors are wide open for the pair of you. The music playing is loud but you love this [s](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DHW-dw1NLf8o&t=ZWYzNGI2NTczZWRkYmRkN2JhYjM2OGVhOWVmM2VjOGM5ZDBhNjUxYixXakVtS0pJbg%3D%3D&b=t%3AcXtpvFymmD9Dd4fNv0MUqQ&p=https%3A%2F%2Fhitchhikingbabeh.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F142426846643%2Fcorcovado-t&m=1)ong, and your hips are swaying a little bit. You’re less than dressed for this occasion, but your grey shirt dress, thigh highs and boots don’t look out of place at all, and neither do his skinny jeans and oversized hoodie.  
  
Once in the VIP section, it doesn’t take much to find Taemin. He’s the only bright blond in the bar, and he’s slamming down shots like he has something to prove.  
  
Jonghyun decides that he wants to chill here for a minute, because he recognises Go Youngbae in the crowd and wants to go say hello. You hand him back the snapback and clasp the sunglasses to the collar of his hoodie and watch him go. Then you turn around and crack your knuckles as you approach the bar, ready to haul the boy by his shoulders if that’s what it takes. As soon as you’re close enough, you clutch at his shoulder, he looks up at you and it’s like a thousand suns have been ignited.  
  
“You came!”  
  
“Yeah, you told me to come pick you up,” you say redundantly, and he’s still beaming and you’re bewildered.  
  
He clutches your cheeks between his hands and presses a kiss to your forehead to confirm that he’s really as fucked up as he sounded on the phone, and the man behind him flicks the back of Taemin’s head.  
  
Now, while you’re annoyed at Taemin for this weird bout of affection, no one gets to get aggressive with him ever when you’re around. So you turn to his drinking partner with full intention to curse him out of this club, your face red and angry and a little nervous and —    
  
You beam.  
  
“Well, well.”  
  
Kibum is a sight for sore eyes, and he looks flawless as ever right now, in a crisp dark suit and hair parted to the side. He’s biting back a smile, probably because he’s annoyed you haven’t settled any of the drama you started. When you move to hug him he doesn’t stop you, he just doesn’t do much to reciprocate. But a moment after you separate he looks to the bartender and orders a dirty vodka martini - filthy as it can get - and you smile so hard it hurts. Not only because it’s your favourite, but because it means he missed you.  
  
Not that he’ll ever tell you that with words, or that he even has to.  
  
“What’s the occasion?” you ask, making Taemin move one stool over so you can sit between them. Kibum shrugs and watches the bartender impassively before looking back to you.  
  
“We’ve reached the point where even if we go out separately we end up running into each other at some point. If you had come in five minutes ago, it’d have been a full reunion,” he explains, and for a second your stomach somersaults because that means that —  
  
“Relax, he left a while ago. Taemin wouldn’t have called you otherwise.”  
  
The martini lands in front of your eyes just in time, and you move to take a swig off the pretty glass almost instantly, finishing off half the drink. Kibum rolls his eyes, omitting a comment about your being rude for not cheering first, but he’s kind of happy you’re here. Maybe now he can get some perspective, spend some time with you as yourself and not as Jinki’s girlfriend.  
  
“So did you all give the managers the slip?” you’re smiling again because the mix of olive and vodka is divine and Kibum thinks you might be nervous or anxious or both, given the speed you’re drinking at, but he simpers and Taemin laughs like he only just remembered.  
  
“I came here lawfully,” the raven-haired boy sustains, “Taemin has comeback shit to do in the morning, but he wanted a drink. I was actually supposed to meet up with Min here.” He looks around the club absentmindedly as you take another sip of your drink and ask the bartender for water, which lands in front of Taemin less than a minute later.  
  
“Nice,” the blond slurs before chugging down the entire glass. He licks his upper lip after he’s slammed the glass back on the bar and gets up, moving to stand behind you and holding your shoulders. “Let’s go dance!”  
  
You’re not entirely dressed for dancing, so you pretend you can’t hear him and turn back to Kibum.  
  
The song [c](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DjPW5A_JyXCY&t=ZTA0MmRmZDY5ODZmYTdkNDMxZjkyMzlhYzJkMmJhYzgyNTJiMTQ4ZCxXakVtS0pJbg%3D%3D&b=t%3AcXtpvFymmD9Dd4fNv0MUqQ&p=https%3A%2F%2Fhitchhikingbabeh.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F142426846643%2Fcorcovado-t&m=1)hanges and even he’s swaying, so you purse your lips and get up. Taemin cheers and keeps his hands on your shoulders for safe steering. As you make your way to the dance floor you look up to the DJ booth, where surely enough Go Youngbae and Kim Jonghyun are lounging around a soundboard with the resident DJ.  
  
There probably aren’t any better dance partners in the universe than Kibum and Taemin, so it’s safe to say you breeze through a few songs without even noticing. People start to recognise them, their dance moves are too sharp and precise to be coming from just anyone. They don’t pay any mind, because no one’s brought out a camera yet and they’re having a really good time. In fact, the three of you are belting out some [D](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DmOKqNxN4jWM&t=YzJjNmE5YjU4YzY3ZjIzYmRmMzBiZmEzZDE2NWQzNGMwNmRiZjNlNyxXakVtS0pJbg%3D%3D&b=t%3AcXtpvFymmD9Dd4fNv0MUqQ&p=https%3A%2F%2Fhitchhikingbabeh.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F142426846643%2Fcorcovado-t&m=1)J Snake song when Choi Minho rushes in with a look of urgency on his face.  
  
You can’t hear what he’s asking Taemin, but when his eyes catch you they go wide as planets and you feel really cold all of a sudden. Kibum nudges the younger by the shoulder, and this time you can read Minho’s lips.  
  
“Have you seen Jinki hyung?”  
  
 _He left a while ago_ , you can’t hear Taemin answer but you know it’s what he’s saying. Minho looks even more aghast and runs a hand through his pretty dark hair. The other two fuss at the taller male some more because Minho looks really concerned and you don’t know what to do.  
  
“Where did he say he was going?”  
  
You peer closer to Taemin to hear a response.  
  
“He didn’t say, he just said he was heading out.”  
  
Then Minho meets your eyes, and you recognise the look in his immediately. It’s not good. You lead the little group to a less loud corner of the club and reach a booth, which you later find out was the one Jinki and Minho and Taemin had been lounging in a while ago.  
  
“How much did he have to drink?” your tone is flat, startlingly so, and Taemin is suddenly regretting making that phone call to you.  
  
“Three bottles of soju and half of that Grey Goose,” Minho points to the table in the centre of the booth, where the other half of the French vodka stands meekly. Your mouth flattens to a line and Jonghyun shuffles into the spot.  
  
“Maybe he went home?” your tone isn’t hopeful, and the look Minho gives you is enough of an answer for you to think a little more realistically. “Did you try calling him?”  
  
“Only like 47 times before I came back into the club.”  
  
You appreciate the sarcasm, in all honesty. At least he’s talking to you, which he hadn’t done in a very long time.  
  
“Maybe he went to see some of the guys in Gwangmyeong?” just hearing the words out of your own mouth shut that question down. Jinki wouldn’t go through that much effort to get away, especially drunk and in the middle of the night. Which leaves his little getaway places in Seoul.  
  
“Changsun’s?”  
  
Minho shakes his head.  
  
“His parents’?”  
  
He sighs, meaning he already called them and that he’s not there.  
  
It leaves only one place, and just the thought that he would be there makes you sigh. You almost want to sit down to take this in, but you can’t. Minho seems to agree, because he recognises how the realization hits you and he knows you know Jinki is probably sitting outside your doorstep right this second.  
  
“Okay,” there’s an air of resolution about you as you zip up your jacket and look around for your car keys. Then you remember that Jonghyun drove here, and you dip your hands into his hoodie unreservedly.  
  
“Are you guys good to take a cab home?” you take advantage of the nearness and he appreciates it and the waft of your scent that breezes in with the contact, but he wants to come with you.  
  
The other boys are nodding yes, and you don’t even register an answer from Jonghyun before you step completely out of his reach and get walking. You’re moving for the exit almost mechanically because you can’t afford to hesitate right now. Jonghyun thinks so too, and he takes a few strides after you before Kibum holds him back by the arm. The elder turns around with annoyed eyes.  
  
“Let me go.”  
  
“No. She needs to do this alone.”  
  
A lick of fiery anger runs through Jonghyun’s entire body because he knows that the right thing to do is to stay, but he doesn’t want to. He’s so tired of being passive, so tired of feeling guilty for what happened that day in Jeongdongjin, so fucking tired of not dealing with his feelings for you.  
  
Timing. This whole thing is fucked because of timing.  
  
If he’d asked Jinki’s mother who that girl had been that was sitting next to them at that last performance of  _Rock of Ages_ , or if he’d actually asked Taemin about his PD at WGM, if he’d stopped to talk to you for five more minutes the day you wore that gorgeous red dress, if he’d told you that he was interested in you while he was filming the show with you… this could all be so different. He’s watched you walk away from him so many times, and yet again he can’t fucking move from his spot in this booth. And it’s not just because of Kibum’s grip on his arm.  
  
For a moment he thinks you’ll turn around, shoot him a warm look that would serve as comfort, or a small smile that would tell him you’ll be back.  
  
But you don’t.

  
  
> _[w](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DKathfQUL9Rw&t=ZTU1MWQ1ZjRjZDFhMjI4NDk3NGFkZWQyNGNiNmU1ZjQzOGU2NzViNixXakVtS0pJbg%3D%3D&b=t%3AcXtpvFymmD9Dd4fNv0MUqQ&p=https%3A%2F%2Fhitchhikingbabeh.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F142426846643%2Fcorcovado-t&m=1)hy don’t we open up sometime?  _  
  
Lee Jinki has some serious timing issues. You’d tried to talk yourself out of coming here fifteen times tonight, but something compelled you to come supervise the editing process for the final WGM episode. Because you obviously ran out of good luck for the year, you’re not surprised to spot the familiar silhouette of the blond walking around the lobby when you step out to the hallway of the post-production offices, which has a very convenient view of the floors below.  
  
There are at least twenty five people at his tail, because he showed up with two managers and they’re both slimmer and at or below his height. You don’t really like the way he moves, aggressively but slowly, still softly because he’s still a celebrity and he has an image to maintain.  
  
What is he even doing out here at this time of night?  
  
Watching him now, dodging phones and cameras and ignoring questions that come as bellows, you think having a crush on him, an anything on him is just… inconvenient. Your brain refuses to let go of that last time you saw him; you’ve had so many opportunities to do something about how you feel, how you’ve felt, and you have done nothing.  
  
When you look at him more closely, you can’t help but sigh as you lean against the railings and look down. Though him being famous is already a huge drawback, you’d hate to weigh someone so wonderful down.  
  
But memories love a good argument with a solid conscience, and you can’t help but remember his hands on your lower back, pulling you closer with solid purpose. You remember his words,  _I want to see you again_ , and you try to remember the look in his eyes. Did he really mean it? You’ve spent the better part of three years dissecting those five hours of your life and the pieces fit, they fit too well to go right and you’ve never been one with good conviction.  
  
He pops up in crevices of your mind, slips through the corners of your eyes more often than ever now. But the ache you feel has dulled; it is now a hollow burn that takes your breath away, but only for a moment.  
  
Because after a moment, you remember the other things that stopped you from running to and not from him before. Your paths are similar but not enough, your wants and needs are similar but not enough, your hearts are similar… But it’s not enough. You keep coming back to the thought of him because it’s easy. It’s easy to think of someone who’s theoretically and physically thousands of miles away, someone whose actions you can’t predict because you have no way to, because they’re unreachable.  
  
So you don’t let yourself forget that this is more than enough, that you can’t want more than what you had, that you wasted every chance you had at something more.  
  
You turn around, back straight, chest puffed out and chin up, and head for the elevators. Fresh air would be great right now, you’re not too tense yet because the finale airs in seven days, or wait —     
  
A look at your watch tells you it’s actually in six days.  
  
The smile that tugs at your lips is bittersweet after you take note of the date. You were never really a huge fan of New Year’s, but the cheers that go off around you after the clock hits midnight make you feel reminiscent. It’s sad and you hate it, so instead of heading up to the production offices for a laugh, you think going to the rooftop might be a better idea.  
  
It takes a while for the elevator to get to you, probably courtesy of the small shrieks you can still hear from the lobby, and you’re suddenly grateful that you’re not a celebrity, that you’re only mildly tied to some. A little voice in your head tells you that you’re better off, that things are perfect like they are now and that the last thing you need is to walk uncertain roads. You have a career to build, people to see and shit to do, you don’t have time to chase crushes right now, especially of the unattainable kind.  
  
 _Ding_ , but you don’t look up even when the elevator doors are fully open. You’ve got your hands fishing around your purse for cigarettes, asking yourself if you ran out at some point this week. But then a gasp catches in your throat because there’s a hand enclosed on your elbow. It pulls you into the elevator, and you only look up to see a blur of sandy yellow and you hardly get the first syllable of his name out before his hands are on your cheeks like they were so long ago. Jinki presses a single kiss against your lips because he can’t stop himself, and his hands lower from your face to your shoulders.  
  
“Happy new year.”  
  
You blink at him a few times, and it makes him giggle. “I-uh, wha-what are you doing?”  
  
He tastes like mint and… strawberries.  
  
“What do you think?” everything about his face is new and familiar at the same time, “I’m here to kidnap you.”  
  
You look around the elevator and spot their youngest manager standing awkwardly at the corner, and you spare him a tiny wave and look back at the taller blond with horrified eyes. “Bu-but the people outside—”  
  
“Don’t worry, I have a plan. And you have a car.”  
  
You do have a car, but you’re not awfully trusting of this plan. Your eyes dart back to the manager and he looks like he’s used to this kind of thing. His eyes tell you that this is just another day, that Jinki’s wistful eyes are not a rare sight and that you should be less discombobulated than you currently are.  
  
And then Jinki’s hands shake your shoulders. “Do you trust me?”  
  
 _Blink, blink, blink,_  there’s no answer so Jinki looks you straight in the eyes and his knuckles brush your cheeks. More than trusting him, you’re too curious not to see this through, so you nod your head yes and he shoots you a gigantic smile that disintegrates your every rational thought. All you can do is welcome the hand that snakes down your arm to wrap around your palm, and you think you’ll never forget how his fingers feel intertwined with your own ever again.  
  
Then Jinki looks over his shoulder at the maknae manager, and the shorter man slips out of his pullover hoodie and hands it to the blond to put on. “Okay, so this hyung is going to get off at the parking level where our car is, and where the fans are. Hopefully, seeing him will throw them off.”  
  
“And we’re going to— “  
  
“Your car,” he’s beaming and you swear you feel tingling at the tips of your fingers.  
  
“And then?”  
  
“Then we go wherever we want,” every word out of his mouth sounds like a song and it’s really hard to focus on anything other than on trying to piece the notes together into a melody. Then the elevator dings to tell you that you’re at the first parking level and Jinki throws the hood of the pullover over his head and moves you so you’re backed up against a corner and out of sight. As predicted, the first thing to welcome the young manager as he quickly steps out are screams of ‘manager oppa!’, and ‘where did Onew oppa go?’.  
  
The wait till the doors are closed again seems eternal, and thankfully security keeps the fans from getting inside the elevator. When the contraption starts to move again, Jinki heaves a deep sigh and looks down at you, reading your expression surprisingly carefully.  
  
“Scary, isn’t it?”  
  
“A little,” you confess, though you’re not talking about the fans or him being famous or anything related to the idol world at this point. You spent the better part of a year working with Taemin, after all. This, this is nothing.  
  
Jinki, however, is a lot.  
  
“I have got to be dreaming right now,” you turn around to face your reflection on the mirrors that wall the lift, “I’m totally dreaming, right? I fell asleep at the editing booth. Damn it, I always do that, why do I always do that?”  
  
You turn around to look at him like he’ll answer, and bites down on his lower lip to stop himself from laughing. “So you’ve been dreaming about me? Did you miss me? You missed me,” he narrows his eyes at yours though he’s still smiling warmly, “I get it. This isn’t the kind of face one can forget easily.”  
  
“Dream you would definitely say that,” you move to pinch at your arms and it hurts more than you expect. You’re hissing and marking red spots on your arm until the elevator dings again to tell you that you’re at the third parking level. You still haven’t woken up.  
  
Jinki calls your name and gives your hand a squeeze, and you still look a bit lost when you look into his brown eyes. “This is definitely not a dream. Tomor—  today is my first day off in months and the moment I heard Taemin say that you’d be spending New Years at the broadcast station I took off like a rocket and I just,” he stops himself to pull you out of the elevator by the arm because the doors are starting to close, “I didn’t really plan things out beyond this point, but I just really wanted to see you and I was hoping you might have wanted to see me, too.”  
  
Five solid seconds of silence go by, and the look on Jinki’s face is turning more urgent, until he’s pulling at your hand again to bring you back to. You blink five times before you open your mouth, then close it because you have no idea what to say.  
  
“So, this isn’t a dream?”  
  
“Not a dream.”  
  
“And you… wanted to see me? Me?”  
  
Jinki doesn’t register the expression on your face at first, but then he starts to realise that you’re actually clueless. You don’t seem to be able to believe that he’s standing right in front of you right now, that he’s been thinking about you since the last time he saw you. Like you really don’t know the kind of power you have. It doesn’t seem like you know at all, judging by your doe eyes and just slightly parted lips.  
  
“You can’t just waltz back into my life and expect me to not do anything about it,” he grins and his tone is slightly bashful, “unless… you have someone else waiting for you at home?”  
  
Here you scoff because this is a subject you enjoy complaining miserably about. “How am I going to go out on dates if most of my leisure time is spent shredding hate mail I get from Taemin’s fans and agonising about—  ”  
  
You catch yourself in the nick of time, but Jinki’s face has turned awfully complacent. “About?”  
  
“Shut up.”  
  
“I didn’t say anything.”  
  
“Shut  _up_!” You pull at his hand because you just spotted your car and registered that this isn’t a dream, that it’s really happening and you’re doing everything in your power to stop yourself from imploding with joy. Jinki’s laughing as he trails behind you like this is the most normal thing in the world, like it hasn’t been three years but three minutes, like every chance you let pass by was a build up to this exact moment.  
  
“You mean me, right? Agonising about me because you missed me, because you like me, right? You mean me, right??”  
  
“Yes, I mean you!”  
  
And you wouldn’t change a thing.  
  
He hides out on your backseat the entire time you drive back to your apartment, because you feel it’s the safest place to go for now. The ride is loud, Jinki tells you how comfortable he is in various humorous ways through the traffic of the city in between telling you about how busy the year has been. He only jumps back to the passenger seat once you’re down at your parking garage and your stomach is all jitters again.  
  
You’re about to grab the door handle when his hand lands on your shoulder, and you turn to him looking both quizzical and a little scared.  
  
“There’s a small argument I want to have, though,” he crosses his arms on his chest and his cheeks are puffed out, which relaxes you considerably.  
  
“Already?”  
  
“I saw you at the airport a while back,” he starts, and your eyes widen and your heart sinks to your stomach, “and I know you saw me, too. I know it might have been poor timing and that there were cameras all around, but you didn’t have to run off like that.”  
  
You didn’t think he’d remember you, or even recognise you at all.  
  
“Also, why didn’t you tell Taemin about me?” He’s pouting and it looks like he’s actually upset, and you get the feeling again that it hasn’t been years but seconds since you last took your eyes away from this face, though at the same time it still feels so new.  
  
“Why would I tell Taemin about you?” you know you’re skidding around the real question, and Jinki notices, so he pouts harder and furrows his eyebrows.  
  
“Because we could have met up so long ago, but you didn’t want to. That’s why you ran when you saw me at the broadcast station.”  
  
Here you open the door and get out of the car, and wait for Jinki to do the same. His voice echoes out here, and he calls your name a few times until you’re smiling and looking him more sternly in the eyes. “What else was I supposed to do?”  
  
“You always run,” he catches up with you, holding your hand and keeping you close, and his words feel starker now. “I thought I was bad, but you’re at a whole new level.”  
  
“Of what?”  
  
“Flight riskiness.”  
  
You laugh, loudly and a little shamelessly, and Jinki pulls on your arm to make you look him in the eyes again. You appreciate that he’s telling you outright that he has the same kind of problem, and you think this is something that connected you from the start. The uncertainty, the feeling of having to make a decision between holding on or letting go and the excitement that comes in that split second hesitation affects him, too, and it comforts you a little.  
  
“You have commitment issues?” you bounce the ball back to his court and he’s not all that appreciative, but he’s made up his mind to be as honest as possible with you because he doesn’t want you to run from him again.  
  
“ _You_   _gave_   _me_  commitment issues,” he starts, and you stop laughing immediately and squeeze his hand.  
  
“I did?”  
  
Jinki pouts again here, moving to walk towards the entrance to the elevators because it’s scalding hot down here. “I basically confessed and got an almost yes and then you disappeared for three years.”  
  
“But that’s not the only reason, is it?”  
  
His lips trace a smile and you feel less guilty, so you walk more confidently inside the building and get the button for the lift.  
  
“I mean, I guess I always had a problem with the whole trust and commitment thing, and sometimes the future freaks me out and I don’t want to deal with it. But you’re the prettiest person I’ve ever seen and you never freak me out, and I can’t help but trust you… so if I’m with you, I think I’ll be okay.”  
  
“Really?” Are you blushing? You’re totally blushing. “Let’s go introduce me to your parents, then.”  
  
He looks at you with widened eyes as the elevator doors slide open, and they follow you as you step inside like you didn’t just scare the life out of him. You tug at his hand and pull him inside, much like he did to you before, and he looks a little paler.  
  
“M-my what?”  
  
You chuckle and he blanches some more before your free hand goes to fix his fringe. “Relax, I don’t mean it.”  
  
He lets out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding as you press the button to one of the high rise floors, and he searches your eyes once you turn back around to look at him.  
  
“And I already met them, anyway, remember?”  
  
He suddenly does remember, and it makes him feel a thousand times better, because he now recalls that his mother even spoke to him about you. Even if it was only a few words, hearing his mom call you cute, that you looked at him with so much affection in your eyes… it makes him feel significantly less anxious. In fact, he feels so much more like himself that he lets go of your hand to circle his arm around your hips to bring you closer to him, much like he had the last time he properly saw you.  
  
“Have you been seeing other people all this time?”  
  
The elevator comes to a stop and its doors slide open, and you take advantage of the moment to break all contact with him to walk to your doorstep.  
  
“Well?”  
  
“Of course,” you say as you stop in front of your front door, and you enter in your birthday into the keypad over the doorknob. The pad dings with a tri-tone and the door pushes open, and the familiar smell of home makes you smile before you spare Jinki a glance over your shoulder. “And so have you, right?”  
  
Your apartment is nice. A little bit minimalistic, with only black and white in terms of furniture, reds as accents and greys on the walls. The wood of the floors smells nice, clean and oddly new, like the entire apartment isn’t entirely lived in yet.  
  
“You live here by yourself?”  
  
“Don’t change the subject,” you tease, “you wanted to have this argument, didn’t you?” But in the end you tell him anyway, on your way to the kitchen. How your family decided to move out of the capitol when you left for college but still wanted to keep this apartment in case you wanted to come back after studying or travelling. Since they own the property, living expenses are pretty easily covered, and the location is great. You can’t really complain about much in that respect, because you were lucky enough to get a good job right out of school.  
  
“You never thought of having a roommate?”  
  
“You’re still stalling,” you smirk, opening up the fridge, “do you want juice, water or beer?”  
  
“Beer!”  
  
“Oh, I also have soju.”  
  
“We could have done this months ago, you know.”  
  
You bring out the green and golden brown bottles, and carry a huge water jug back to the living room for safety. Jinki’s seated on the couch in front of your coffee table and he doesn’t look entirely comfortable, and for some reason it bothers you. So when you go back into the kitchen to fetch glasses for water and liquor, you stop by your speakers and fuss about your music library for something that might relax you.  
  
You decide to leave it to fate and hit shuffle, and the first song is… an oddly appropriate [n](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3D84m-0uO39SY&t=Yjk0YmUyMzM5M2MyNjU4M2ZiMzM5M2U5OTYyNDU4OWI3NTAzOGRiMCxXakVtS0pJbg%3D%3D&b=t%3AcXtpvFymmD9Dd4fNv0MUqQ&p=https%3A%2F%2Fhitchhikingbabeh.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F142426846643%2Fcorcovado-t&m=1)umber, and you hear Jinki laughing seconds later. “Did you pick that on purpose?”  
  
“I just hit shuffle!” you’re still grinning when you make it back to the living room, and Jinki already looks cozier, the smile on his face looks a lot more like him and a lot less like the idol you often see on TV and on billboards. He watches with warm eyes as you set down two tall glasses and two short ones by the bottles, and when you finally take a seat opposite him, he feels the odd need to come closer. But he doesn’t, he moves for the bottles instead and pours you your first shot.  
  
“I don’t know why you didn’t tell Taemin anything or why you didn’t reach out,” he says, taking both short glasses and handing you the one with more soju than beer, “but I’m really, really happy I did this, that we’re doing this.”  
  
“I see you will continue to avoid the subject of your dating history,” you take your glass and watch as Jinki’s cheeks turn a bright pink.  
  
“I’ll reconsider if you call me ‘oppa’ once.”  
  
“No way,” you clink your glass against his, and you both down the bright golden liquid a moment later. The soju is ice cold and so is the beer, and the feeling of both cruising down your throat is delightful.  
  
When you lock eyes again, Jinki looks like he did at the rooftop so long ago, and you think that now he’s fully out of his shell, completely himself.  
  
“I wish I could offer you champagne but I think this is okay, too,” you add, moving to prepare the next pair of shots, and you don’t notice but he’s staring at you again. 

He just can’t stop himself from looking at you like you’re the rarest kind of treasure, like it’s physically impossible for him to tear his eyes away. All this time he’d wondered, if you’d been waking up in someone else’s bed, if someone else was making you happy, and it bothered him when it shouldn’t have. Even now you’re so clueless about the beautiful, comfortable mess you’ve made of his heart and it’s making him so strangely happy. He watches you out of sheer wonder because he can’t believe that this is happening and, much like you were a bit ago, he starts to wonder if this is a dream that he’s going to wake up from any minute now.  
  
“I’m more than okay with this. Champagne makes me really horny anyway, so we can leave that for another time,” he’s smiling because your shoulders are shaking with laughter that you refuse to let out, and he doesn’t move a finger to stop you from lightly hitting his thigh with misplaced indignation. “What? It’s true! And also your fault, by the way.”  
  
You’re laughing harder, tears brimming the corners of your eyes and cheeks stained deep red. “Why is the effect of champagne on your body  _my_  fault?”  
  
“You know why!” how can he not be affected by champagne when the most memorable time he drank it was while watching you frolic around a rooftop with the dumbest smile on his face?

Not that he can tell you right now, but this is the first time in his life where he doesn’t mind feeling like this, when it doesn’t scare him to feel his heart pounding and his stomach somersaulting, because it’s you and you’re great and you make him feel warm and fuzzy inside.  
  
He calls your name and his eyes are literally sparkling when you meet them, and you tilt your head to the side and hum in response.  
  
“Can we… pick up where we left off? I know that things are different now and that dating can be dangerous with someone like me, but… would you want to?”  
  
Here goes the blinking and stammering, and he bites down on his lower lip when it’s been ten seconds and you haven’t said anything. He knows this is a heavy question, because saying yes to dating a prominent idol means willingly putting yourself in the shadows almost all the time, because you’ll have to sacrifice a lot and change a lot of your life only for his sake. Most of all, he’s afraid because this is the most direct question he’s ever asked you, and though he loves how loose your convictions are, he needs to hear you say that you want this as badly as he does.  
  
But it’s been almost a minute and you’ve paled a few shades. So he caves.  
  
“It’s okay if you need time to think about it, we’ve only just met today after such a long time,” he’s smiling a sad smile and you start to notice how your heart rate kicks up, how your breathing gets shallower. He gets up and looks down at you and there’s disappointment in his face and your whole being is screaming at the rest of your body that the answer to his question is plain as day, that there has to be some kind of problem with the signals to and from your brain because your body isn’t being obedient at all—    
  
Until he moves for the door.  
  
“What would I need to think about?” you’re clutching his wrist and his eyes are wide when he looks back down at you. “I ran off at the airport because I couldn’t forget about what happened back then but I was sure you forgotten. I didn’t tell Taemin about knowing you because I couldn’t forget about you but I was sure you had forgotten me. Because it’s been so long and I didn’t think you’d… I just thought you’d forgotten.”  
  
His face is laden with disbelief, like he seriously cannot believe you’d think he’d forget. And it makes you smile really hard, it makes the next words a lot easier to say.  
  
“But now that you’re here,” your eyes are coy again as you rise to your feet, and he’s smiling wider when you slide your hand down to his and tug at it so he’ll come closer, “I can openly confess that you’re the main reason why I haven’t been able to date properly for three years. So, yes, I do want to pick up where we left off.”  
  
“Really?” The smile on his face has gotten so big that it’s almost scary but you smile back because he’s really close.  
  
“Of course. You should take responsibility for making a mess of someone’s feelings, especially someone as pretty and as nice as me.”  
  
“You really think so?”  
  
His hands slide around your back, pulling you really close so your noses are inches from touching, and his eyes are shining and you can’t help but giggle and nod.  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Are you waiting for me to change my mind? Ask me again and I’ll say n— ” you expect it when he kisses you and close your eyes in time with his, and your hands shake a little when they settle on his chest and around his neck. You notice, when his hands clutch at your dress shirt, that his touch is a little needy and looking for more confirmation. In this moment, you finally feel like you can be needy, too, that you don’t have to hold back anymore and that you can set all of your cards on the table. If it’s confirmation Jinki wants, it’s exactly what he will get.  
  
He hums when he notices you move to push him down on the sofa and straddle his lap, and your lips are warm and you taste like soju and a little bit like something citrusy and your tongue is fiery and it’s exactly what he wants. He kisses you back with the same fervor and his hands are caressing your hair and trailing down your spine but his kiss is still somehow sweet, almost innocent and only a little daring and the minty berriness from earlier still baffles you but it mixes nicely with the tartness of your drinks. He’s different and refreshing and somehow everything you want, everything you’ve wanted for a long time. He hums against you and you can feel the smile on his lips and it makes you even braver, and you even dare giggle and it makes his hands hungrier, too.  
  
When you pull back, he looks a little dazed. You imagine you look pretty much the same.  
  
“January first is a pretty huge day one, though,” your tone is totally conversational and it’s hard to pay attention when your mouth is so supple and so close, “no matter what happens, New Years will probably remind you of me forever.”  
  
Jinki rests his head back on the couch and grins at you through hooded eyes. “I can totally live with that.”  
  
You smile and your fingers trace the shape of his lips. They’re really pretty and you’d almost forgotten. “That settles it, then. More beer?”  
  
Jinki whines a tiny ‘ _no~_ ’ as you slide off his lap and sit a small (though still considerable) distance from him, and you give him a stern look. “Day one,” you add in a wary tone, because you know he wasn’t referring to the beverage at all, “soju?”  
  
“Soju,” he answers, and watches as you pour a shot of the pure clear liquid and hand it to him. “You’re such a tease.”  
  
“You love it.”  
  
Guilty as charged.  

* * *

When Taemin first told you about the horror stories that circulated in the idol world about dating, you didn’t really believe him. As it turns out, now you believe him even less. Maybe it’s just good luck, but things have gone to your and Jinki’s favour for the most part.  
  
You don’t care how the first few weeks after that night consist of mostly scattered text message conversations. For the most part, Jinki likes to send pictures of random things that end up being connected to a pun or something oddly clever somehow, or of building inside joke after inside joke. Sometimes he sends you audio notes of him singing some random song (sometimes ones he makes up, but he never specifies), and asks what you think. Only once is his message an apology, for the single time he’s had to cancel a meeting last minute because of unforeseen circumstances. When your schedules do agree with each other, you don’t arrange a planned rendezvous. Instead, you set a centric, remote location as a sort of start point, and take it from there. Usually it’s a park, or in extremely lucky cases, a nondescript pojangmacha.  
  
There’s something really wonderful about this dynamic. Jinki notices how you don’t like being cornered, how you always prefer spontaneity to forethought, and he loves that more than he can say. Not only because he isn’t the most organised when it comes to dating, but because it makes space for new memories to be made made in new places and not just ones made in the classic hideaway dating spots. That doesn’t mean that you skip those places; sometimes you do helplessly find yourselves by the Yanghwa Bridge, at the small coffee shops and patbingsu places around the SM building or hiking up Namsan in the wee hours of the morning.  
  
Even the dates you arrange without leaving your apartment are exciting. These mostly consist of cook-offs, nap dates (Jinki loves those especially), early morning or late night workout dates and ‘spa’ dates, where you lie together (usually on the floor) with some kind of face pack or other skin care protocol on while marathons of any variety show are playing from the TV in your living room.  
  
At some point, you both feel that this secret is obviously too big to keep from  _everyone_. At first it seems only natural not to tell another soul, but now, with almost four months on the clock, it’s safe to say things are on pretty solid ground. And that keeping this a total secret could blow up in your faces eventually.  
  
So one fateful day, when you get home from that week’s recording for Sketchbook, you’re not surprised to find Jinki deeply immersed in your kitchen. After registering the distinct smell of baked sweets, you come around to see him watching a batch of almond chocolate chip cookies cooling off on a wire rack. He’s wearing an apron and oven mitts because you don’t let him in the kitchen without protective gear, and you nearly squeal at the visual. His hair is coming back to brown and the faded colour is surprisingly flattering to his whole complexion, but you’ve yet to see any hair styling that he doesn’t look good with.  
  
The cookies look damn tasty, too. You’d made the batter from scratch and let it rest overnight, and he obviously couldn’t wait for you to get home to start baking them.  
  
These little sweets are an apology and a token of thanks to his group mates, who are about to find out about your relationship. The sight of them, though it brings the sense of satisfaction that anything you prepare or cook does, makes you nervous. So you strip off your light jacket and shoes, drop off your purse at the coffee table in the living room, and make a beeline for Jinki’s arms, which open wide as soon as you near his vicinity.  
  
“Did you try them yet?”  
  
He shakes his head but doesn’t take his eyes away from the rack, and he looks more nervous than usual. “I’m scared I didn’t do it right.”  
  
“They look right,” you turn and bend a little so your eyes are level with the cookies, and indeed, they look pretty evenly cooked. Golden brown at the bottom, too. You feel for their temperature, and they’re almost completely cooled, so you dare to pick out the one closest to room temperature and hold it up in front of Jinki’s mouth. “Say ‘ _ah_ ’.”  
  
He does, and you’re a little anxious because this is the first time he’s tasted anything sweet that’s come from your hands, and you’re better at savory dishes than sweet ones. Jinki’s not awfully difficult to please when it comes to food, but nothing beats quality. As such, when his eyes widen and then flutter closed, your heart leaps. Then his mittened hands are on your cheeks and he presses a single, extremely grateful kiss against your lips before opening his eyes and moving in for another bite from the treat, still in your hands.  
  
Obviously, you laugh because this kind of crap still charms the pants off of you, and you clean up the cookie crumbs on the corners of his mouth and yours, too. When he gets the rest of the treat in his mouth he just chews and stares at you, nodding his head repeatedly like he’s awed, impressed and pleased all at once.  
  
“That is beautiful,” he says after swallowing, and spreads his arms towards you again, “come here, please tell me we can keep half of them and give the brats the rest.” You step into his embrace because you can’t ever help yourself and he doesn’t let go of you for a while. In fact, he’s still got a solid grip around your waist when you move towards the pantry to grab at a spice grinder full of pink crystals. Jinki notices your movements but has no intention of letting you go, so you end up dragging him back to the wire rack.  
  
“What are you doing?” he asks when you turn around in his arms to face the cookies again, and his chin settles on your shoulder to watch you.  
  
“Adding my secret ingredient.”  
  
It’s not really a secret, but salt makes sweet things sweeter. That, and Himalayan pink salt is cute, especially when coarsely ground. Jinki watches as you sprinkle only a tinge of the stuff atop every one of the baked goods, and knots his hands around your waist for added comfort. Back hugs have always been his favourite.   
  
There are a few seconds of silence, and the mood suddenly turns a bit more serene.  
  
“You know,” Jinki starts, swaying you a little, “as of next week, it’ll be a hundred days since we started dating.” He doesn’t know if you’re keeping count, too, but he still can’t believe things have been going so well for this long. Not only that, but even despite endless schedules, he still manages to see you more than once every week if he’s in the country. You even came to a concert last month and had the time of your life while still remaining totally anonymous to the fans, to the crew and to the rest of the group.  
  
Taemin still thinks you went because he asked you to.  
  
The two of you are kind of amazing. You made it through the first leg of his tour, him going to Borneo, Brazil and the concerts in Seoul and there’s no tenseness in the air around you, ever. The worst arguments you’ve had have been over what to watch from your couch and what to order when you get take-out. Jinki could say that you’re still at the honeymoon phase because his feelings are still just peaks that go higher and higher every time he sees you, and even if things plateau or falter, like when they do when he watches you read or when you dissuade him from asking you to sing or when he’s made a mess he doesn’t want to clean up, he’s still… smitten.  
  
“Do you want to officially introduce me to your parents after we stop by the dorms?” you snigger and he shakes you a little; his way of saying that you’re making a tangent and that you should let him finish. Of course you count every day that goes by and you’re still going strong, and you know damn well that this is a huge milestone.  
  
You try to focus back on adding no more than three tiny crystals of salt on each cookie, but you’re now painfully aware of Jinki breathing down your neck. So you finish up as quickly as you can, and the two dozen treats (well, two dozen minus one) are ready to go. You turn back to face Jinki and he still looks a little betrayed, because for once, you’re the one making jokes while he’s attempting real talk.  
  
But you kiss him and snake your hands around his neck and he’s smiling again.  
  
“I’m sorry that I’m going to be gone on the actual day,” he pouts and it’s genuine, but you’re actually very happy that he’s going off to conquer new territory. South America is beautiful and exciting and a new market for Korean pop music, so despite being 15 hours and thousands of miles apart for a while, you’re totally okay with this. You anyways think celebrating after rather than before the day would be better. “But I promise that I’ll make it up to you.”  
  
For a moment you consider telling him that he doesn’t have to, but you don’t, and you think he’s kind of grateful for it. Instead you nod because you understand, and he brings you in for a kiss again because he’s really happy and he can’t not let you know.  
  
Then his phone rings, and it’s probably one of his group mates or one of the managers because they’re going off to Mexico in the morning and it’s very possible he hasn’t finished packing yet. You take that as your cue to leave.  
  
“I’m going to go get ready,” you whisper when he picks up, and he nods at you enthusiastically, “can you put these in that basket over there?” You point at a small woven basket at the edge of the countertops, and he nods at you again before you’re off.  
  
Thirty minutes later, Jinki is staring at you with amazement, impressed by your ability to clean up so good in such little time. You’re wearing a romper in deep red, a thin sweater jacket in white and a matching nano tote. Instead of going for heels, you opt for red leather flats. There’s very little makeup on your face, just some BB cream to even out your tone and lip and cheek stain for a rosier complexion and presto. The same goes for accessories; you only slip on a few golden bangles on and wear a gold necklace, and you consider tying your hair up but it looks nice and wavy from being in a bun all day at work, so you leave it as is.  
  
Jinki is more used to you wearing short skirts and thigh highs or PJs at home, and huge parkas or trench coats over crop tops with skinny jeans when you’re both out, so this is a really cute sight, and it’s perfectly appropriate.  
  
“It’s not too dressy?” You sound insecure and Jinki shakes his head quickly, “it’s okay, right?”  
  
“More than okay, I’d say,” he stretches out a hand for you to hold, and you see the basketful of cookies in the other. Even though he’s just going home, he also looks kind of dressy in a white pressed shirt and skinny jeans, and you never looked at the pair of you just on the outside but you’ve got to admit that you look pretty good, like as a couple and stuff.  
  
Getting into the dorms building turns out to be a bit of a hassle. There’s a group of girls outside the building, either talking the security into letting them in or pooling the foyer for the same reason. Having opted for taking a cab as opposed to driving, the two of you go in through the garage because Jinki always carries the remote that gets the gates open these days. After sending off the cabbie, you make your way to the elevators and as it journeys up above, you find yourself surprisingly anxious.  
  
“Why am I nervous?” you‘re not asking anyone in particular, and Jinki lets out an uneasy chortle himself.    
  
“I know, I feel kind of weird, too. And I’ve known these kids forever,” he turns to you and you see your anxiety mirrored in his eyes. “It’ll be okay, though. You’re amazing and I’m amazing and we brought food as a bribe, it has to be okay.”  
  
The laugh that bubbles up your throat is like an instant rush of calm to his body.  
  
“And they’ve met other girls you’ve dated, right?”  
  
Jinki’s the one to laugh this time, and it makes you even more nervous. “I wouldn’t say they met  _properly_ , but yes.”  
  
You don’t want to ask.  
  
“So I shouldn’t be nervous, right?”  
  
“I am, so it’s okay if you are,” his hands are sweating and he wipes them on his pants for the tenth time. “Don’t worry though, you’re really hot and they’ll probably spend the whole night teasing me about it, so,” another laugh flows from your lips like music and he’s blushing a little bit. Then the doors are open and the grip he gets on your hand is much more confident, and when he stands at the doorstep, you choose to stay directly behind him for the element of surprise. He punches in a manager’s birthday into the keypad by the threshold, and the dark wood slides open.  
  
The first thing Jinki sees is Taemin holding a mug, probably of tea or hot chocolate even though he’s not supposed to be having any at this time of night. Key’s standing in front of him, probably scolding him for the very reason. Their eyes turn quizzically towards the leader, and Jinki almost smiles.  
  
“Hyung! Where have you been?” Taemin’s voice is a little loud but he’s not moving any closer. Key echoes his question and it prompts Jonghyun to come into the scene. Jinki can hear the familiar noises of FIFA coming from the TV, so he guesses Minho might be peering over from the living room to listen in on the small commotion.  
  
“I, uh, have something to tell you guys.”  
  
“O-okay? Are you sick?” it’s Key speaking this time, Taemin is too busy looking as confused as his pretty face can let him.  
  
“I want to… introduce you to someone.”  
  
“Who?” Jonghyun looks mighty curious, and eyes the elder pensively until Jinki takes two steps inside, and then moves to the side as you take a careful stride past the threshold and under the yellowish lights of the flat.  
  
Jonghyun’s eyes widen, Kibum lets out a dramatic gasp, and Taemin drops his mug.  
  
“W-wh-why are you two together?” Taemin’s too familiar with you to not sound a little betrayed, and you try to smile but only bite down on your lip.  
  
“The two of us are, uh… “ Jinki comes to stand beside you and you feel a little better, “we’re dating.”

* * *

“One hundred days?”

You nod at Taemin, whose face is red as a tomato and not entirely from anger but from embarrassment and a little bit of shock, too.  
  
“So that guy you told me about in that rooftop thing that happened,” the lithe boy goes on, and you nod along to his words because it’s the only way he’ll not get mad that you kept this from him. “Is this hyung?!”  
  
Another set of nods. In the past ten minutes, you’ve gone over your entire history with Jinki since 2010, though this time you use his name instead of none, which is how you’d told Taemin the tale initially.  
  
“And the girl from the  _Rock of Ages_  stories and the airport story,” Key’s eyes are wide on Jinki’s, whose history has also been revised, and the elder shifts in his seat next to you on the floor of the living room with the other four in front of you, “is Taeminnie’s ulzzang PD?”  
  
Jinki nods, too, and slides the woven basket from behind his back to the makeshift centre of the little circle. He adds a smile, too, and Taemin’s face softens a little.  
  
There’s a small beat of silence, and Taemin’s face tenses up again.  
  
“One hundred days?!”  
  
“How many times are you going to ask that?” Minho is obviously annoyed and looking to move the conversation along, though he still can’t believe that the same person that worked with most of the group on sets and on location was the girl Jinki ditched every man and woman that made any moves on him since 2010 for. “They already said that it’s how long it has been!”  
  
“So you’ve been going out officially since— ”  
  
“January first,” Jinki supplies, his fingers reflexively brushing the back of your hand for reassurance. It’s hard to be discrete about contact right now, but you move to sit closer to him. It makes him relax a smidgen, and helps you both sit through the members (well, mostly Key and Taemin) asking redundant question after redundant question.  
  
“Essentially,” Jonghyun cuts in at one point, and all other voices hush to hear him out for once, “you were both low key crushing on each other for  _three years_ ,” here he pauses because this is the spiciest shit that has happened this year and it sounds ridiculous when you hear it from someone else’s mouth, “and were reunited mostly by coincidence?”  
  
This time you nod together, and Kibum laughs and claps his hands once before looking back at the pair of you with disbelief. “Are you going to tell the managers? The agency?”  
  
“ _No_!” You both call out, also in unison, and then exchange a look that mixes gratefulness and relief, because you’d never actually talked about spreading news of the relationship beyond his members, your families and a choice handful of friends.  
  
“Are you sure… are you sure you know what this means? Dating an idol?” Minho is stern, but his eyes tell you he’s worried. A part of you knows that it’s for your own good, and you appreciate his presence a lot more than you thought you would.  
  
“I’m not going to say I’m entirely sure,” you’re honest, and you can see all of the boys’ faces soften when they realise you really mean every word, “it’s been smooth for us so far but it hasn’t been easy and I know it’ll never be easy. But nothing that’s good ever is.”  
  
You feel Jinki’s gaze on you, you can see it from the corners of your eyes. Maybe you’re blushing and that’s why the other four are staring at you so endearingly. So you shoot them all a smile, all the time never shifting your eyes from Minho’s, until Jinki’s stare is getting to be too much to handle.  
  
At which point you, without shifting and your smile never faltering, move your hand under his jaw and try to push it so he looks forward and not at you. The other members can’t not chuckle when he fights against your grip, his eyes dying to meet yours because he’s not usually swayed by sincerity but he knows you don’t mean to sound corny, this is just how you actually feel.  
  
You’re amazing, holy shit. And it’s like you don’t even know it. 

Not another word is spoken for a while and you feel kind of awkward, so you uncover the cookies in the basket. The sweet smell of baked goodness starts to radiate in the immediate space around it, and you pull out one and hand it to the member closest to you.  
  
“We baked these ourselves,” you offer, and Taemin still looks a little betrayed but can’t refuse you or sweets, ever. Jinki also does his part, hands some cookies to the other members, but they’re all still hesitant.  
  
Until Taemin caves, bites down, and squeals. The others follow, and as it often happens with food, it becomes a catalyst to unexpectedly pleasant conversation.

“Hyung made these?!”

“I made nothing, I just baked them,” Jinki spends the next two minutes handing you the credit for everything he’s ever brought home from your place, and that’s how the boys find out that the side dishes that keep popping up in the fridge are not from the managers or Jinki’s parents, but from you.  
  
“I’m telling you already,” Kibum starts, grinning at you once he has his hands on a second cookie, “you are too good for this old man.”  
  
Jonghyun feels… strange. He’s so curious, enough to make Taemin sit back and watch as he bores his eyes into you, asking about where and how and why you saw each other, asking about whether you’d go meet him between schedules and congratulating you for being so good at secrecy. 

It’s kind of scary, if Taemin is completely honest.  

How did Jinki convince someone so great to date him, anyway? Not that he’s not great, too, but hyung is kind of a handful and makes really bad jokes… 

“He just…” a sneaky grin makes its way to your face because you’re tired of the questioning, “ _jinxed me_.” 

You almost belch at yourself for saying that.

“You did  _not_  just— ”  
  
Jinki is so proud of you that he forgets about the people around him when he leans in to kiss you.  
  
“Okay, I take it back,” Kibum’s awed and grossed out and he’s trying not to laugh but he’s failing, “you two deserve each other.”  
  
“But you’re still my friend, right?” Taemin’s the one who’s the most worried, and when Jinki gets up to hit Minho because he says something offensive about the elder’s weakness for puns, you offer Taemin your hand.  
  
“Bros before hoes, always,” you whisper and wink, and Taemin smiles at you like nothing at all has changed, and gives your hand a squeeze.  
  
Then the whole apartment feels warmer, and after being complimented on your cooking and recounting the two times your relationship almost became a scandal, you decide to try your hand at a game of FIFA against Minho. The terms are set out as follows: if he wins, you have to send packed lunches to wherever they are every day for a month, and if you win, you get a single request granted from Minho, no exceptions or limitations.  
  
You hadn’t had the chance to show it yet, but you can be quite competitive. For fifteen minutes, the living room is a ruckus of Minho yelling and cookie crumbles rolling to the wooden floors until Kibum rolls in with a hand vacuum. Minho yells some more, about how the noise is putting him off his game, but he’s way beyond saving already.  
  
Minho also blames his sour luck on Taemin walking past the screen periodically during the game, and he’s a little gloomy after the final score is displayed on the screen. His expression honestly breaks your heart a little bit, so you scooch a little closer to him while Kibum and Jonghyun stroll off to the kitchen because they just remembered they had wine hidden somewhere.  
  
“Fine,” you start suddenly, crossing your arms over your chest, “I’ll pack lunches twice a week for a month. And I’ll ask for a wish from a different member.”  
  
“Who?”  
  
“Are you asking because you don’t know or because you want to hear me say it?”  
  
Jinki sighs because it’s obvious you choose him, but he wonders why because he’d do anything you wanted him to, anyway. Minho chuckles and it’s really sweet, he’s really cute and you think you see a little bit of Jinki in him. “Can I call you sister-in-law?”  
  
“Goodness, no,” Jinki’s the one who answers, and you’re really grateful.  
  
“Future sister-in-law?”  
  
“No,” you’re laughing and Minho catches your discomfort, so he eggs you on.  
  
“Noonim?”  
  
“I have a name,” and you spell it out, syllable by syllable so he understands. “Just call me that.”  
  
“What do you call each other?” His question is timely, Jonghyun coming around to you with a glass of Riesling. Taemin lands next to Minho just then and cocks an eyebrow before taking a sip of the sweet white.  
  
“Hm, that’s good. What  _do_  you call each other? Jinki hyung likes to give people nicknames, he likes it when people give him some, too,” Jonghyun is awfully interested and he peers closer to you. These commitment questions have always scared you, so you don’t know what to say and you busy yourself by taking a few sips of the chilled sweet wine and kicking back to cross your legs.  
  
But Jinki never misses a beat. “Nicknames?” His hand lands atop your knee like it’ll help him think, “we have some, right?”  
  
“What?” Taemin’s cheeks are red again, and Minho is already sniggering.  
  
“I don’t know, it’s nothing out of this world. Woojoo minam? Babe? Jagi? I call her ulzzang PD sometimes,” Jinki’s too comfortable, and you’re freaking out a little. You’ve called Jinki a few things, like ‘radish head’ and ‘rabbit man’ and you’ve made some up that have never even left your mouth.  
  
“Why are you so curious? It’s like none of you have ever dated,” Jinki can feel your murderous energy, and he just caught wind of the slight bullying going on.  
  
But Taemin slips his hands into your lap and grabs your phone. He knows your password because you’re an idiot and told him weeks ago, and you know he’s looking at how you have Jinki saved when he starts choking back laughter.  
  
“It-it’s… cute.”  
  
Your head is buried in Jinki’s shoulder when Taemin turns the phone around to show the others, and if the giggles you’re hearing are any indication, it could have been worse. Kibum calls out your name, he’s in the kitchen again and he really wants to know how you made those cookies and if he can substitute sugar with a calorie free alternative and if he can use almond or coconut oil instead of butter. You’re off like a bullet because it’s the perfect out, and you’re already yelling about nut oils and texture and the potential dangers of sucralose when Minho and Jonghyun outright gaffaw behind you.  
  
“Why, though? Jagiya!” Jinki is genuinely curious and his tone is warm, grateful and almost humbled, “why ‘duckling’?”  
  
It’s what he looks like when he’s just woken up, when his eyes are adjusting to lights and his lips are jutted out because he never likes waking up, but you won’t say that out loud unless you’re proper wasted and in the mood to embarrass yourself. So you ignore them as you stand in the kitchen, and you ignore Jinki when you feel his presence behind you. He listens in on your directions intently and you avoid his eyes at all cost, because if you want to pretend like the cat’s not out of the bag, he should cooperate. He can always tease you where there are less prying eyes and ears.  
  
In your defense, Jinki is way sappier. He’s just better at hiding it.  
  
All too soon, there’s a text to Taemin’s phone that alerts you that a manager’s coming over for a last minute check on luggage and to drop off his own in preparation for tomorrow. You’d almost forgotten that Jinki is leaving, that you won’t see him for almost two weeks, and that you need to get better at being covert.  
  
The atmosphere is just too nice, everyone here seems to compliment everyone else and you don’t feel left out in the least.  
  
You can’t get used to this. You can’t get used to this yet, or things will go wrong and you’ll have to leave him.  
  
It’s hectic for the next few minutes. You offer to take the stairs as opposed to the elevator to avoid run-ins, and decline Jinki’s initial ten offers to come down with you. “There could be fans outside,” you remind him, and he pouts, “let’s not risk it, okay?”  
  
“At least let me see you out,” he insists, because he will not settle for just a hug goodbye and he doesn’t want to kiss you in front of four immature idiots, “please?”  
  
You tell Kibum to keep the basket and return it with something he bakes (which becomes a little bit of a tradition down the line), moving around the place to gather your things and making sure not a trace of you is left behind.  
  
Goodbyes are quick; Minho hugs you and pats your head with affection before he heads off to finish packing, Jonghyun holds you for a second, and it’s strong and gives you a kind of inner warmth you don’t expect. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you think he’d be a great friend to you, maybe as great as he is to Jinki.

Key actually kisses your cheek and you schedule a date as soon as he’s back to have dinner together. Taemin waits by the door to hold you for too long and let you know he’s actually really happy for you, and when he walks away, Jinki’s eyes are too sad to reject. So despite the fact that you know the manager is probably parking or minutes away, you let Jinki rush you out past a door, and into a dark, echoey stairwell.  
  
“I think that went pretty great,” he starts, and his voice sounds lovely reverberating off the walls. You’re smiling warmly and it’s making him melt a little bit, and soon enough his hands are on your waist and yours are on his chest and this time, you’re the one to pull him close.  
  
“Agreed,” you’re a little weak for the way his breathing deepens the closer he is to you, “it still won’t make the next twelve days easier, though.”  
  
He sighs and it’s dramatic because he really didn’t want the reminder. Even though it’s not the first time you’ve been apart for more than a few days, the whole thing about it being a separate continent makes things really different. Almost guiltily, his fingers dance up your cheekbones and it consoles you a little, so you wrap your arms around his waist and kiss him once, twice, just until he starts to chuckle.  
  
“So I think I’ll have you grant my wish now.”  
  
“Now?” Jinki doesn’t really think it’s a smart move, the kind (and nature) of wishes he can grant you right now are pretty limited. But he still smiles when you come closer again, kisses you and presses you against the nearest wall because if this is what you want, he’ll stay here all night—    
  
Then you kiss down his neck and your hands are moving in on his shirt. He gasps, takes advantage of the way your mouth leaves tiny bites on its way up his jaw to watch you undo the shirt entirely. He’s never been totally sanguine about his body, but you never make him feel insecure about it and if the groans sitting at the base of his throat mean anything, it’s that he won’t do shit to stop you. He breathes harder when you push the shirt back and press your chest against his.  
  
“H-h-here?” his voice is shaky but only with a little uncertainty and a surprising amount of keenness, “Now?”  
  
You’re laughing and he’s getting less anxious but he still thinks it might be a bit too risky, though he still does absolutely nothing to discourage you from catching him by the mouth again or from sliding the pearly white garment right off his shoulders.  
  
The shirt doesn’t make it to the ground. In fact, you swing it over your own shoulders before looking up into Jinki’s surprisingly pleased eyes with the most innocent expression you can manage.  
  
“Let me keep this until you come back.”  
  
Whatever concern he had vanishes in an instant, and he wonders why he ever second-guesses you or your relationship or anything that revolves around you and him. It’s the cutest sentence he’s ever heard and he almost forgets he’s bare-chested until he kisses you and feels your chilly hands on his back, on the nape of his neck. It’s actually very nice.  
  
You try to not think about how well-defined his upper body is, and you make a mental note to call him out on lying about ‘growing a belly’ in the past year at some point later on and  _holy shit his entire torso is decadent and you’re totally failing at the whole not staring thing_. He’s so nice and broad and his skin is a gorgeous shade of gold and he’s hard as a rock, too, everywhere, even though he feels so soft there’s amazingly solid muscle underneath and he’s just really, really hot. Literally and figuratively.  
  
“I almost don’t want to leave.”  
  
You almost echo his words, but you hush him instead, and it reminds you of where you are, that their manager might already be in the building. “Go,” you say reluctantly, and his lower lip juts out and you want to cry. “He’ll be inside any second.”  
  
“Not yet, I haven’t heard him get out of the elevator. He’s probably dealing with people downstairs,” his hands are on your back and slipping under your top and his mouth is right there and you have to say no but you don’t want to, so you let him kiss you again because he tastes really sweet, and then he tickles your waist, which finally convinces you to push him away.  
  
“Go,” you repeat, and it’s not easier to say at all, “have fun out there and don’t get sick or I will hurt you.”  
  
“That’s a little contradictory.”  
  
“Come pick this up when you’re back,” one more kiss against his cheek and you’re walking away, the shirt now almost a jacket over your shoulders, “or I won’t consider my wish granted.”  
  
He nods, but he still won’t let go of your hand, and you get a single step down the stairs before he starts pulling you back. His expression is a little pained, and you search his eyes for the more sensible parts of Jinki, the facets that know that this isn’t the average relationship and that this always has to happen eventually.  
  
“I’ll miss you.”  
  
After so many conversations and jokes and dates in person and over the phone and even over text, you know Jinki. Maybe not all of him, but most of him. And you know this cannot have been easy for him to say out loud, to your face, right now.  
  
“I’ll miss you, too.” He knows this isn’t easy for you, either, and you’re so grateful for the smile he gives you. “So go, go quickly and come back quickly, okay?”  
  
That thousand-watt toothy grin will be the end of you, and you tug at his hand because you have to let go of him or you’ll never leave.  
  
“Okay,” his voice is stronger, confident, and his palm loosens around your own and he finally rips his eyes from yours to head back toward the dorms. It hurts a little when he shuts the front door behind him, but he feels better when he hears Kibum laugh his gregarious, boisterous laugh a few seconds later.  
  
“Old man, you’re  _so_  whipped.”


	5. Cafuné

> _[a](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DLy7uj0JwgKg&t=YTIwNmY2YWIzN2Q5ODJhY2M4ZDk1NzE1MTA5MDEwNGY2MGQzNWMwNixSVWZTQjN0SQ%3D%3D&b=t%3AcXtpvFymmD9Dd4fNv0MUqQ&p=https%3A%2F%2Fhitchhikingbabeh.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F142450416648%2Fcafun%25C3%25A9-m&m=1)bsolve me of my sins, would you?_

Your hands are shaking as you park your car in the garage. You don’t feel like yourself, hands fumbling for your purse and the rest of your stuff as you hurriedly get into the elevator.  
  
This is what you should want. Confrontation. It’s about time.  
  
So, why are you so nervous? What are you afraid of? You didn’t even realise you left Jonghyun to hang dry until you were halfway home, so why are you even considering backing out now?

It’s like years have gone by when the elevator doors finally slide open, and the worst possible thing that could happen right now is exactly what is unfolding before your eyes.  
  
He looks like he’s been waiting for a while, and you think the bottle of Grey Goose Minho had mentioned was a different bottle, because Jinki is holding an empty one right now. He’s also holding a huge grocery bag as he leans against your front door, and he doesn’t look sulky or angry or anything other than just… placid.  
  
“There she is!” Jinki is only half-slurring, his eyes minuscule and his smile gigantic. “I wasn’t sure if you changed the passcode and I didn’t want to use my keys because you weren’t here yet, so I decided to wait.” He adds a tiny childlike chortle, too. “The security guy came over, too. Thank goodness he remembered me, otherwise you’d be picking me up from a police station.”  
  
“Why didn’t you answer Minho’s calls?”  
  
He blinks at you a few times, confused. “I did answer. I told him I was waiting for you here.”  
  
Oh. Of course,  _of fucking course_. Minho could have used a thousand other means, but this was the only way he was going to get you to come here… alone.  
  
He should get more awards for acting, you think.  
  
“I can’t do this anymore,” his words sound like the notes he wrote you but he’s still trying to smile, and it’s breaking you already, “I need to talk to you, we need to talk.”  
  
You nod, crossing down the corridor to stand in front of him and your knees are already getting wobbly. He smells like vodka and tobacco and Chanel and it’s not the first time. This scent isn’t unfamiliar at all, you’ve donned it yourself a handful of times and it’s so nice to catch a whiff of this again but something about it feels completely different and you don’t know what to do.  
  
You move past him to open the door, punching in the unchanged code into the keypad above the doorknob and letting both of you inside. You watch as he drops the empty bottle of liquor outside your door and takes the grocery bag to your kitchen. But he doesn’t unload it, instead browses around the cupboards for his favorite mug. It’s still where he left it, clean and otherwise untouched. He could really use some coffee, and it might be just him but it always tastes better when he makes it here.  
  
When you extend your arm to take the mug off his hands, he slips his arms under yours and lifts you, setting you over the counters before getting to your espresso machine.  
  
“I got it, jagi, relax,” he fumbles about the machine, back still turned to you because he can’t handle how familiar this still is and he doesn’t want to hear you tell him not to call you jagi or dear, or darling, or all of the things he still wants to call you. “You’re going to want to sit down for this, anyway.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
He sighs and rests his hand on the edges of the counters, watching the coffee drip from the contraption. “It doesn’t look like you’ve been spending a lot of time in here lately.”  
  
“I’ve been busy.”  
  
You can’t see but he’s biting on his lower lip because your words confirm that you avoid this apartment whenever you can. The kitchen is too clean, there aren’t any dishes in the sink and the living room looks pristine, as orderly as the first time he came in here. But he knows this is not how it’s supposed to be, it’s supposed to be a little cluttered, lived in, homey.  
  
The espresso machine makes a loud, alarming noise to bring Jinki back to, and the kitchen smells delicious, like it used to in the mornings eons ago. When he grabs the mug and turns around to face you, you’re actually grateful to be seated.  
  
“You look like hell.”  
  
He does, dark bags under his tired eyes. His face is pale, slimmer than you can consider healthy or even attractive. He just looks so… brittle.  
  
“I miss you.”  
  
This hurts a lot.  
  
Jinki takes a long drink of coffee and sets the mug down, moving for your fridge. He brings up the grocery bag he’d been holding earlier, and pulls out what you know are entire containers of packed food, definitely made and sent by his parents because you look like hell, too, and he wonders if anyone has told you that you look dull, thinner, less you.  
  
“Mom insisted I bring this over, and not just because I needed an excuse to come here.” You don’t want to think about her but you do, you wonder how she’s doing and if she scolded Jinki for what he did, if she scorns you a little for breaking her son’s heart, resents you because she likes you and maybe thought you were a better person than you are. It’s already hard to breathe because his voice and his intentions are treacly sweet, so you hop off the counters, move past him and start fishing for a rocks glass. Then you kneel down to the lower cabinets and bring out a bottle of your favorite aged tequila.  
  
You should at least be as drunk as he is.  
  
Ice is completely foregone, and you fill the glass halfway before returning to your spot on the counter. Jinki is now leaned on the ones opposite you and sips coffee as you take huge gulps of the amber liquor before crossing your ankles and swinging them them animatedly in the air.  
  
His mouth spreads into a sad smile because the sight of you right now brings back so many memories, and you laugh because you recognise the look in his eyes. “Would you like to revisit the terms of our separation?”  
  
Your sass makes him smile, but his lips flatten quickly. “I… didn’t come here to guilt trip you or to make excuses. I just really want to talk about what happened.”  
  
Another gulp of tequila, and your heart is a bit lighter. “Okay.”  
  
“I, uh, have known about Jonghyun’s feelings for you for a long time,” his voice is firm, clear, and jealous and it makes you drink down the tequila like it’s apple juice and you pour yourself some more. “I never said anything about it because it’s not my business, but something about how he talked about you that day really pissed me off. He kept insisting that he’d taken you places that you’d never go to otherwise, that what he has with you is different and special and his tone was a little territorial and you… you know how I am.”  
  
You do. Jinki’s always been a little possessive, though never in a toxic way. Maybe it’s because he met you first, because he liked you immediately, because you were running in circles around each other for years before you finally came together. He’s always been understanding and even supportive of Taemin’s relationship with you, he never minded the two of you going out alone because Taemin’s like a brother to you, he’s always been like family for both of you. But something about the way Jonghyun speaks about you has always rubbed him in a weird way. It’s why he was the quickest one to notice how Jonghyun’s tone wasn’t friendly. It was greedy.  
  
“When we wrapped up our schedule that day, the managers had a meeting with one of the advertisers that works with us for one of our endorsement campaigns. You know I usually don’t tag along to that kind of thing, but they were meeting at a bar and I needed to blow off some steam. They didn’t help, started to guilt trip me about how I hadn’t spent time with the staff in months, so I went.”  
  
You nod, sip and pour and nod and sip along to his words. Your stomach is already alerting you that you should take a break but you don’t want to, your fingers are getting numb but your heart is still heavy and it still aches so fucking much because looking him in the eyes really hurts but you missed it so much, you missed his voice so much. But you hate his tone.  
  
“After the meeting, I felt like really letting go so the advertiser offered to go to some day party at this club. No one said no; my hair wasn’t dyed and I didn’t have makeup on so I just looked like a regular dude in a snapback and a t-shirt. When we got there… she offered me some uppers because I looked upset after talking to Jonghyun. I took some, we all took some.”  
  
You open your mouth to say something but his eyes shut closed and he bites at his upper lip for a moment. You’re not angry, you’re hurt and scared and worried because he doesn’t usually do this, at least not without you there or without letting you know. Not that you’re the kind to disapprove of party drugs, you’ve never been narrow minded about it because you’ve done most of them before. You’ve never been one to judge anyone for wanting unique experiences that weren’t always licit, even now you think you should try everything at least once so long as you’re sure it won’t kill you.  
  
Bottom line, it hurts that he did this, but only because he did it without you.  
  
“It was okay for an hour and I was starting to forget what I was angry about, but then she started pushing to take me home because I didn’t look well, insisting on knowing where I lived and if anyone was waiting for me.”  
  
“Jinki— ”  
  
“We took a cab and I gave the driver this address because I was getting anxious and jealous again and… next thing I know we’re here and she was trying to take my clothes off because I was starting to sweat and I just didn’t feel right, but I didn’t feel wrong so I tried to go with it.”  
  
You’re cracking, your thoughts and your whole brain is starting to shut down. “Was she trying to—?”  
  
“Yes and no.”  
  
“What the fuck do you mean ‘yes and no’?!”  
  
You don’t mean to get angry and he knows, so he moves carefully. “Turns out I have a solid tolerance for ephedrine,” he shrugs but you can see his hands shaking from remembering, “it made me susceptible and stupid but it still feels… I still feel like at the time, I would do anything to make you mad, I wanted to make you so mad and that’s horrible. I’m horrible and I’m so sorry.”  
  
That’s what he came here to say.  
  
“But then you walked in and I got so fucking happy, I was so fucking glad to see you that I forgot that I was mad, I forgot about Jonghyun being in love with you,” he’s trying not to move closer to you and you’re trying not to tear up, but you’re both failing. “Until I started to realise where I was, what I was doing.”  
  
It’s all flashing through his eyes again, calling Taemin after watching you burst out the door and begging the younger boy to call someone and do something because he needs to get to you but also go to hospital. Then he remembers the lady, who was obviously terrified because she got caught but made no intent to run away, at least not until she heard the urgency in his voice and took off. He remembers throwing his clothes back on even though they felt soiled, disgusting and moist, and Taemin and Kibum and two managers storming through the door with several oral IVs in tow.  
  
Jinki cries his eyes out the entire time that he talks to the managers that come inside. He doesn’t want to call the police because he doesn’t want to involve your apartment or you in any way, so the managers decide that the agency will handle this with the advertiser on their own.  
  
He remembers Taemin calling you a handful of times before he called Jonghyun, and just thinking about what you said to him then makes you tear up a little more.  
  
This is why he bought a new bed, this is why he changed almost everything he could about that bedroom. Not only because he wanted to spare you the memories, but because he wanted to destroy everything that could connect that night, that woman to you or to him.  
  
Jinki looks back up at you and you’re not crying yet, but he can see the terror in your eyes and it makes him feel like dying.  
  
“I’m okay. This isn’t the first time something like this has happened, I swear I was a lot more okay than you’re thinking, and I’m still okay but I am so unbelievably sorry,” he wants to hold you really badly, but he has to stay back. “She might have started it but I’m the one that fucked us up, I’m the one that wanted to make it happen and I am so sorry that I couldn’t control my fucking emotions and that I took it out on us.”  
  
“Why didn’t you tell me earlier? Why did you wait until now?”  
  
He didn’t want to burden you with it. This ordeal was so long and complex and messy, and he couldn’t bear to hurt you even more. But that’s not the real answer.  
  
“Because I don’t want this to be the reason why you come back to me.”  
  
Jinki wants to say more, but he stops himself because there are twin streams running down your face already. Your heart is beating like it wants to tear through your chest, and it goes out to him so pathetically and so strongly that you can’t even begin to stop yourself from thinking that you have to take him back right now, that you have to erase any memory of that night and of every night he’s spent alone after that right this second because he shouldn’t be saying that he’s okay, that this isn’t the first time it’s happened, like he has to get used to being treated like a doll and you can’t stop crying, you want to scream because you hate thinking about how much pain he must have been in —  
  
“I am okay,” he grabs you by the shoulders and you sniffle, looking up and into his eyes, trying with all your might to believe he’s okay but failing. “But I fucked up. This is my fault.”  
  
“It’s not your fault. It’s our fault, we both fucked up.”  
  
“Listen to me, I had every intention of fucking another woman because I was angry about something I couldn’t control!”  
  
“I did the same thing!” 

It’s the first time you’ve said it out loud and you’re terrified of yourself. You got wasted and you had more than every intention of fucking another man because you were angry about something you couldn’t control. _You actually fucked another man._  You took one person you were sure you could manipulate, someone you actually know and care about, and you did whatever you wanted with him.  
  
You took advantage of the feelings you know Jonghyun has for you, and you used him to make yourself feel wanted, to make yourself feel loved, because you thought that Jinki didn’t want you, that he didn’t love you.  
  
“That doesn’t matter, okay? It doesn’t, if I had restrained myself, this wouldn’t have happened. You have every right to hate me but I can’t, I don’t —  ” Jinki can’t finish the sentence because he’s starting to heave breaths, remembering all this hurts when he’s in front of you and it’s just one more reason why he didn’t want to do this.  
  
“Should we break up? We should, right? This must have all happened for a reason. Maybe you don’t love me anymore and that’s why you wanted to go to that woman,” your voice is insanely level for the kind of panic flooding your bloodstream. “Maybe we’re just holding on to each other out of habit, because being together is what we’re used to. I’m not a good person, anyway, why would you want me? I slept with someone you care about, I took advantage of someone you work with, someone you’ve known for years. I’m the one that doesn’t deserve jack shit. So we should break up, right?”  
  
He looks at you just like he did months ago at that club lounge, expression aghast and eyes filled with dread. The insecurity in your voice scares the shit out of him because this is why you were always so bad at telling him how you felt when you first started dating, this is why you always let him take the lead, why you let yourself get whisked away by his light until you started shining on your own. Because you never felt like you deserved the kind of love he’s always been so ready to give you, because you never felt like anyone could want, need, love you back, you never felt like anyone would choose you or put you first. But he wants you to put yourself first now, he needs you to keep casting your own light because it’s so beautiful and he couldn’t bear to be the reason why it dims.  
  
“Is that what you want?” his voice cracks and it’s all you register before tears brim over your eyes because no, it’s not what you want and you think this is the scariest question Jinki has ever asked you.  
  
Jinki has never wanted someone as much as he wants you. He’s always hated the thought of someone else touching you other than him, or of someone else touching him other than you. It’s why you don’t question it, you don’t question him or stop him when you catch his arms moving in your direction, and you don’t question the way you mirror his movements almost exactly, how he reaches out for you like he’s a desert that’s desperate for rain and you’re a cold, cold cloud desperate for a patch of dryness, of warmth. And you can both finally breathe again.

The embrace is quiet and loud at the same time. Jinki is breathing deep and hard, his hands grab fistfuls of your dress like it’ll help ground him, and your hands are tight on his shoulder blades because you’re scared right now, you’re so scared because you know what you want but you can’t say it and you don’t know why, so you pull him closer.  
  
“I don’t know what I was looking for in that woman, but the second you opened the door… I swear to God I felt like I’d lost my mind. I wouldn’t trade you for the world and I don’t know where I would be if you hadn’t walked in at that exact moment, okay? I don’t care about what happened or who it happened with, I care about us and what happens to us.”  
  
He should have told you that night. If he had then maybe you wouldn’t have chased Jonghyun, you wouldn’t have given in to what you knew he felt and what you also felt. You wouldn’t hate yourself so much right now. You wouldn’t feel almost guilty about the way you love how snugly he fits himself between your thighs, how you don’t hesitate to rest your chin on his shoulder and wrap your arms more tightly around him, how you breathe in and out so much more easily now because he’s so warm, because you’ve missed him so much and you don’t want to be apart from him.   
  
“Did Jonghyun know?”  
  
The air is suddenly really tense, but Jinki is back to the person you know, the one who doesn’t play around when it comes to your heart and you’re too grateful to fear his answer. Deep down, you know it changes nothing.  
  
“I told him when we were preparing for his Agit concert together. But I begged him not to tell you. I told everyone to let me be the one to do it.”  
  
“Why?” the question is heavy, and it takes Jinki a moment to answer. You’re now flooded with doubts about everything that happened after that night, and every apology you heard or read from Jonghyun feels so much deeper, every meeting laden with a certain tartness that isn’t entirely unpleasant.  
  
Jinki lets his hands slowly release the fabric of your dress, and your arms drop from around him until he can stand back to look you square in the eyes. It kills him to see the tear stains on your face so he wipes them dry with his thumbs, not missing the chance to hold your pretty face and really look at you. His gaze is overwhelming, now more than ever before, and you wonder how you went for so long without it.  
  
It suddenly becomes blissfully apparent that Jinki is a fever you will never sweat out.  
  
“You said you wanted a break and I had no reason to not give it to you,” the tone of his voice is coming back to what you know, the stronger, deeper tones. “We’ve been working on this beautiful thing that we have, that we are, for a really long time. The last thing I want is for you to feel suffocated. I don’t want to keep you next to me if all that’s holding us together is guilt. Jonghyun— I love Jonghyun to death, there’s nothing in the world that would change that. If you loved him,” but he doesn’t want to imagine it, he doesn’t want to think about you loving anyone else and his chest hurts so much, “if you wanted to go to him, I have no reason to stop you.”  
  
“But I— ”  
  
Jinki presses his index finger against your lips and you stare up at him with a comically confused pout, to which he smiles. “Not yet. Let’s not talk about that yet.” He doesn’t want to know if you’re going to leave him yet. He just wants to think that you’re all his for a little while longer because this hurts, this hurts so much.  
  
You exhale through your nose and it makes him chuckle some more before he lets his index finger run up your cheekbones until he can catch your earlobe between it and his thumb.  
  
“Don’t you hate me?”  
  
He laughs fully now, dropping his hand from your face before taking a generous gulp from your glass of tequila, the visual all too familiar to you. “Never.”  
  
“And you don’t want me to fuck off from your life at all?”  
  
Another pointed but amused look. “No. Why, do you want to?”  
  
You don’t, so you quickly shake your head and earn yourself another chuckle from him. You wish you did, but you don’t.  
  
Jinki sighs and it puts you on edge again, his every word feels like your whole life hangs on them right now.  
  
“I don’t want to revisit the terms of our separation. I want you back.”  
  
Your eyes are watering again.  
  
“If you think we still have a shot, if it’s still how you feel… let’s give ourselves another chance,” he’s tearing up now because he hates that there are more tears in your eyes and he’s pissed because he’s one of the reasons why they’re there, “I know it’ll take time. A lot of it, because we’ve been through so much in such a short while, but I don’t want to lose you. I can’t lose you.”  
  
He’s cutting off tears with his thumb and he can already feel the thickness in his throat but he doesn’t care right now because he won’t get another opportunity like this again. 

“I am so cripplingly in love with you,” he adds a laugh even though his eyes are burning and he’s breathless already. “I just can’t let you let go of this, I can’t let us let go. I want to work this out,” his hands slide down your arms ‘till they’re clasped around your own, and he brings them up to his lips. It’s not that he wants to kiss them, though he does. There’s just one last thing that he needs to confirm before he leaves tonight.  
  
The rose coloured ring rests on your left ring finger like it’s never been absent from its place, the crystals looping together the infinity band looking especially brilliant today.  
  
“And I think that, deep down, so do you.”

  
  
> _[w](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DJ00mOYsLecQ&t=ZDE0NmJmMGYwZDM2OTgyZmRmYmU4NDUwZDQ3ZjVmYTY3M2ZhZDI3MCxSVWZTQjN0SQ%3D%3D&b=t%3AcXtpvFymmD9Dd4fNv0MUqQ&p=https%3A%2F%2Fhitchhikingbabeh.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F142450416648%2Fcafun%25C3%25A9-m&m=1)e’ve got so much time, we’ll never see light_  
  
“We’re going to Six Flags tomorrow~”  
  
“You’re killing me,” you groan, tossing and turning in bed because even though it’s 3AM on your end and just about midday on his, hearing this makes you want to get on a plane to LAX right this second.  
  
Throughout SHINee’s American tour, Jinki has kept in touch diligently, mostly through photographs. And not just any kind. Picture every enviable sight in Chile, Argentina and Mexico and California; you’ve been getting uncaptioned snapshots of them all. And the pictures aren’t captioned for a reason, because he bought a tiny stuffed animal to play his partner (or sometimes the main subject) in most of them.  
  
It’s a tiny baby duck, which Jinki names… Duckling. When you ask him why, he says that ‘Me’ wasn’t creative enough, and that it would give him way too much pun material. Duckling will forever be a reminder of your most embarrassing girlfriend moment to date, but you don’t care, because Jinki gets really bashful whenever he calls the stuffed animal by name and it makes you giddy.  
  
Gross. You’re one of those couples, now.  
  
Every time you get a picture, regardless of the time or place, you’re dying of envy and wanderlust and yearning and maybe a little bit of lovesickness. None of which you’ve ever experienced in such rapid succession before.  
  
Jinki won’t be back for another five days, and he’ll only be in Korea for three before taking off to Japan for two more, and it might be the fact that you’ve spent the past few days cooped up in editing booths for hours, but you miss him so much it’s driving you crazy. “I want to go to there,” you whine helplessly, to which Jinki laughs.  
  
“Come to LA,” Jinki’s better at whining than you are, “think of all the potential dates to be had. We could go almost anywhere and the chances of having to run from fans or paps is like, only 5%.”  
  
“But it’s the middle of the TV season,” otherwise you’d have planned something. “When are you on vacation? Are you ever on vacation? I want to go to the Maldives. Let’s go to the Maldives.”  
  
Jinki laughs loudly and he sounds so happy that it gives you all the energy you’ve lost today. Half of it is because he’s abroad and there’s so much to smile about and absorb, so much to live. The other half is because you always sound a little nuts after a certain hour, and because right now it sounds like you’re struggling to stay alert and it’s really cute.  
  
Which brings him to the reason why he’s calling now.  
  
“It, uh, it’s not midnight here yet, but I just wanted to call and say happy one hundredth day,” he’s whispering now, his voice low and surprisingly alluring. You’re caught off guard, his words make you sit up robotically because you hadn’t noticed it was past midnight of the official day.  
  
“It really blows not being there, mostly because it means I have to put in ten times the effort from here,” he chuckles because he’s really nervous and you almost squee because Jinki turns you into a grade A school girl when he does this kind of stuff. “Anyway, uh… how do I say this? I’m really, sincerely, so very happy. Even right now I’m all tingly squiggly and it’s so great and it’s only because of you and I’m not really good with words but I’m always the one babbling when it comes to us, so please do feel free to tell me to shut up.”  
  
You don’t, though, deciding to laugh instead, because you know exactly what the tingly squiggly feeling is and you’re feeling it right now. A part of you is in total disbelief, because he’s always comfortable enough with you to trust you with his real, unfiltered thoughts, and it means more than you can say. Frankly, you want to cry a little bit.  
  
“I’m not trying to be sappy!” Jinki adds defensively, “It’s just, I mean it, so, you know, not sappy, just… say something.”  
  
“You give me the tingly squigglies, too.”  
  
 _Oh, thank God._  For some reason he had been feeling really paranoid about this phone call, and he’s so happy to realise it was for absolutely no reason.  
  
“You’re awesome.” Jinki’s response is warm, and you can hear the smile in his voice. He feels a little silly because he’s never done this before; he’s mostly been on the receiving end of heartfelt words like these in past relationships. It’s hard to tell anyone how he feels but with you it’s different, it always feels so good to tell you what’s on his mind. “And I really miss you.”  
  
You stop yourself a few times before you respond, because this used to be really hard for you, too, but now it feels too easy and you don’t want to sound clingy. Then you remember:  _reciprocity, confirmation_. The only two things Jinki has ever asked of you, and you yield.  
  
“I miss you more,” you sigh in the end, “and I’m really jealous of Duckling right now.” And you tell him about your days, too, how nothing is different at work and you still haven’t met any idols that can rival him in looks or humor.  
  
He’s flattered, but he’s also starting to hear your sleepy drunkenness again, in the way you laugh and take deep breaths before talking, and he doesn’t want to hang up but he also wants you to rest.  
  
“Go to sleep,” he says finally, “do you have a lot of work to do tomorrow?”  
  
“ _Loads_ ,” you sigh dramatically, forgetting that this kind of talk makes Jinki uneasy, “I’m getting a haircut, too.”  
  
“Really? How short? Really short?” even he doesn’t expect himself to care so much, and he feels even more nervous when you laugh.  
  
“It’ll be like when we first met, actually,” you respond, and you’re not sure if he remembers but you hope he does. Though you like growing out your hair, you keep wanting to go back to that cut, just above the shoulder, and you’re finally going to go through with it.  
  
“I loved that haircut,” he sighs because you don’t know but he actually really loves your collarbones, and you’re so happy about him remembering, about the relaxed tone of his voice and him being so comfortable that you giggle a little. “Should I grow out my hair like it was back then, too?”  
  
“Please do not do that.”  
  
“Why?” he’s surprised by how powerful your reaction is, “Did I look too good?”  
  
“I never said that.”  
  
“Oh, c’mon,” but he’s already let it go, it’s too hard to get bickery with you right now. “Fine. Be like that, you’re always like that anyway. It’s like I’m the words and you’re the action, and you know what? It’s cool, I don’t mind. But here I am, spilling my very eloquent heart to you, and you can’t give me  _one_  compliment without— ”  
  
“Jagiya~”  
  
“Hm?”  
  
“I’m really, really happy, too, you know,” it’s suddenly very present, how light and airy you feel whenever and wherever he’s involved. “I know I’m not always great at telling you how I feel either but I am so, so glad you came to MBC on New Years.”  
  
“I saved us from lifelong trust issues that day.”  
  
This is the kind of thing that makes you miss him the most. “Come back already. And hang up, you’ll have to sell a lung for the roaming costs.”  
  
It’s already too late for him to play it cool; he lost the ability to be cool with you the moment he pulled you into that elevator at MBC and he isn’t the tiniest bit sorry. So he laughs and lets the moment linger because he’s totally melting right now, your steady breathing comforts him and it’s impossible to put in words how amazing this all is.  
  
“Fine, fine. Go to sleep, I don’t want to be the reason why you’re late in the morning,” Jinki reminds himself that after he’s done with this leg of the tour he has almost a week of freedom, and it coincides with your first break from filming this year and he can’t wait for that flight back. “Send pictures of your new haircut so us ducklings are motivated to have fun tomorrow.”  
  
You’re laughing as usual, and every time you do it gives Jinki the tingly squigglies and he never thought dating would be easy but this… this is a really great thing.  
  
“Will do. Tell Duckling I say goodnight.”  
  
“Make sure to dream of oppa~”  
  
“I’m never going to call you that~”

* * *

Surely enough, when the clock hits midnight in LA, Jinki’s phone rings with a new text message. He’d almost fallen asleep if it weren’t for the manager out in the hall on the phone with SM, but all lethargy washes off when he sees he’s just gotten a picture from you.

Not only does your new haircut bring in a typhoon’s worth of the tingly squigglies, but the entire picture makes him feel a little nervous. In like, the good way.  
  
 _what’s that box behind you? what secret? whose secret??_  
  
You’ve read the message but you’re not answering, which confirms his suspicions and the ridiculous warmth spreading down his neck.  
  
 _it better not be what i think it is._  
  
Again, you read but don’t answer, and he looks closer to find the unmistakeable letters that get his brain running wild.

_jagiyaaaa tell me~_  
  
It’s exactly what he thinks it is. You ran home at lunchtime after getting a notification that your package was sitting by your front door, and you’d made sure to have a corner of the pink box in the frame when you took your ‘casual’ haircut snapshot.  
  
 _happy one hundred days!!_  
  
He’s responding immediately, and you’re laughing even before you read the incoming bubble.  
  
 _how is this happy???_

* * *

Finally. It’s finally over, this is the last plane he’ll be getting off of for at least a week and he’s going to burst from happiness because sleep, he gets to sleep in a real bed like a real human,  _finally_.  
  
His throat aches like it never has before, and he’s sure it’s because he hasn’t used his instrument so heavily in, well, ever. It’s been a tough year but this break will give him all the energy he needs, and he considers a few days of total voice rest just to be safe.  
  
But first things first. You haven’t answered any of his calls or text messages in two days, and while he wouldn’t normally be concerned about no contact for this long, he’s uneasy. He’s quiet the whole car ride to their lodging, quiet as he showers and unpacks his bags at the dorm, and especially quiet when he sits around the other members in the living room a while later.  
  
“I thought you were sleepy,” Jonghyun comments, but Jinki’s very much awake. He’s texted you again and you still haven’t responded. Maybe you’re still at work? Maybe it’s been really busy and that’s why you haven’t been able to answer?  
  
When the managers finally leave for their homes, Jinki’s running around the apartment to get Duckling (who’s sporting the cutest red ribbon, courtesy of Kim Kibum), a beanie and sunglasses. When he’s at the door he’s a little hesitant, at least until Taemin steps out of the kitchen to smile at him.  
  
“Should we wait up?”  
  
Jinki breaks into the most devious of grins because sometimes he forgets that Taemin is his best and only sidekick, and he laughs outright when the younger shoots bouncing eyebrows at him before sipping some tea.  
  
“Nope.” And he’s off.  
  
He’s actually shaking as he stands outside your door, almost embarrassed to come in not knowing if you’re home or not. But he catches himself and his insecurity after pocketing his glasses, and lets himself in because he likes you too much to ponder on uncertainties. Maybe you’re a little mad about him being AWOL for the few days after coming back from LA, but he’d been celebrating Jonghyun’s birthday and seeing his parents and there just wasn’t time.  
  
Maybe he’s just scared you’ll have a fight, but those are bound to happen, anyway.  
  
When he takes a single step inside, he gets an inkling as to why you may have not answered the last few text messages he sent. There’s music blasting the entire apartment, and there are vanilla and musky scented candles all over the place and you’re…  
  
You’re singing. Not humming or muttering, you’re comfortably singing [a](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3D-J9bwNLRiJU&t=MDZhOGEzNGIxYThmMTllNWYzZjExMzllNzExNDA1OTIxZjU5NGZhNSxSVWZTQjN0SQ%3D%3D&b=t%3AcXtpvFymmD9Dd4fNv0MUqQ&p=https%3A%2F%2Fhitchhikingbabeh.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F142450416648%2Fcafun%25C3%25A9-m&m=1)long to the song that’s playing, and when he sidles over to look at the kitchen, he spots you bent over a bowl full of strawberries stuffed with what looks like cream and chocolate, face radiant and bare and hair tied up in a messy bun. He’s pretty sure you can’t hear him when he tiptoes closer, sticking to the shadows as discreetly as his socks let him. You have a seasoned voice, and there’s something in your timbre that is really unique, something he’s never heard before and cannot compare to anything he knows, it’s just you and it’s fucking beautiful and he wants to hear more.  
  
Then he notices you’re wearing his white shirt, and he almost pats himself in the back when he notices how the candlelight shimmers on your bare legs.  
  
Good fucking job, Lee Jinki. He thanks every deity he can think of, whoever’s responsible for his fate and yours because he’d hate to think what could have happened if he hadn’t shown up to your workplace on New Years, if you’d stayed in America and not taken that job in Seoul after college, if you’d let go of each other when you’d had the chance.  
  
And then he sees you grab a glass of rose champagne, spotting a giant, half-full bottle of Moët & Chandon a moment later. Obviously, you’d go for that tonight of all nights, and he loses it.  
  
His arms are around you in seconds, and you don’t jump even a little bit, giggling as you huddle closer to him.

“Are you ever going to let me hear you sing properly?” he whispers and it makes you laugh outright because it’s really hard to show off in front of the likes of him. All he’s gotten until now are snippets of your falsetto when you’re in the shower or instances like these, where you don’t know he’s listening. 

But you turn around, humming the jazzy tune even when you press a kiss to his lips, and you smile when Jinki presents you with a familiar golden baby duck and places it right next to the bowl of strawberries.  
  
It’s cute as hell, and you try not to squeal as you kneel down to put your eyes level with the stuffed animal’s. Your tolerance for cute things is usually pretty low, you’d have burst into rainbow confetti if this was any other day, but today, you’re good enough to pet the little thing and introduce yourself to it.  
  
After you feel Jinki trying to get your attention, you take the duck in one hand and pick out one of the stuffed strawberries to offer him in the other, Diana Krall coming to a quiet thrum around you.  
  
Jinki is actually quite hungry, though not entirely for this, but he loves strawberries, especially the bigger ones because they’re a little tart but still lovely. These are lovelier, he thinks after he bites into one, because they’re a little warm and bursting with hazelnut and chocolate and there are fireworks going off in his brain and nothing has even happened yet.  
  
Yet, because he remembers the picture you sent him a few days ago when your thumb wipes at the corner of his lips because he’s a messy eater no matter what. You know he has something to say when his hands press into your back, but you turn around because the strawberries aren’t meant to be had by themselves, and you move towards the Moët.  
  
“What’s the occasion?” he watches your nimble fingers wrap around the stem of your glass before you take a long drink and he’s suddenly very thirsty.  
  
You hum, thinking, because you’ve never been blunt about your less pure intentions. “It’s Duckling’s welcome party,” you say finally, filling another tall flute to the brim to hide the smile that will give away that you’re lying to Jinki. The sight of pink bubbly makes you a little more giddy, and when you turn back around you’re not even a little nervous about tonight’s plan. His eyes are already glazed over and you suddenly feel just a little short of breath.  
  
“Is that why you’ve started without me?” he doesn’t touch his glass to yours before he drinks, and you catch the edge of his voice. He’s annoyed.  
  
“Without you?” you pretend to not know what he means and pop another strawberry into his mouth, “I thought you were just here for your shirt.”  
  
Nice try. Jinki grins and chews, and his hands grab at the edges of the countertops, inches from your skin, and his eyes peer into yours and it’s surprisingly invasive. “That is definitely one of the reasons why I’m here. Should we get that out of the way? I wouldn’t want to forget to take it home with me.”  
  
He usually hates going in circles, but it’s always fun with you, so he’ll play along.  
  
You look around pensively, humming for a second before meeting his eyes again. “Five minutes? I’ll give it back in five minutes. I should at least share my champagne with you.”  
  
You’re so bad. But he grins when you take the strawberries in hand and beckon him to follow you to the living room. He does, sits on the soft leather sofa when you offer him the courtesy, and pulls the beanie off his head.  
  
“How was your flight?”  
  
Jinki’s eyes are slightly narrowed with suspicion, but he’s still keen on seeing where you’re planning to take this. “It was just a few hours, so I’m not very tired.”  
  
“Your body probably hasn’t even registered that you’re taking a break yet,” you reason, and you’re probably right and he’s about to tell you when you sit on his lap and wrap an arm around his shoulders. He wants to question you but he doesn’t, his brain is very actively letting him know that you’re doing this on purpose to get a reaction, and he stammers out a small word of agreement when you lean back to place Duckling between your champagne flutes. Then you shift a little more comfortably on his lap before your hand moves to run up the nape of his neck.  
  
He had the blond in his hair retouched but it’s still fading to a dirtier brown, and it’s all soft as ever. It’s ridiculous, how healthy it looks despite the fact that you know that he’s been bleaching it for years, and you decide that whenever you go back to the dorms, you’ll steal whatever shampoo he uses.  
  
It’s hard to not focus on where you’re seated, this is different because you’re in his shirt and he really wants to know if what was inside that pink box is what’s underneath. That and the constant reminder that your bare thighs are a breath away occupies most of his brain space as you try to prolong small talk, so he sips champagne, munches on more berries and hopes to get through this unscathed.  
  
“How’s your throat? Does it still hurt?”  
  
“Hm?” he looks up from your collarbones, they’re especially delectable right now and he wishes you’d let your hair down, “Oh, yeah, a little. Everything from my shoulders up hurts, though; I think it’s all muscular.”  
  
“Do you want a massage?” but you don’t wait for an answer, your fingers digging deliciously up his shoulder blades seconds later. He moans only out of reflex, because it feels really good and because you’ve shifted so you’re properly straddling his lap.  
  
“Did you get a doctor’s appointment?”  
  
Your tone is still so laid back that it bothers him, but he humors you because he’s too curious not to. “Yeah, they penciled me in with someone whose specialty I can’t even pronounce— ”  
  
“A rhinolaryngologist?” you’ve been doing your research, too.  
  
“Precisely,” he takes another long swig of champagne because your hands are really warm and this is only like 2% of what he wants to be doing right now, “I’m seeing them next week.”  
  
“Good,” you sigh, and your breath smells like strawberries and chocolate and bubbly and it makes him clutch harder on your hipbones. “Let me go and grab some oil for your neck, though, it’s really stiff today.” You don’t get very far, because Jinki all but pushes you down to his lap and looks at you more predatorily than he ever has.  
  
“I think those five minutes are up.”  
  
You blush, even with the candlelight behind you it’s plain to his eyes. Your entire demeanour is bashful, your movement slow when your hands close around the first button of his shirt. “But Duckling—  ”  
  
All it takes is one swift flick from Jinki’s fingers, and the tiny duck flies and lands safely on a bed of cushions on the loveseat adjacent to the sofa, completely out of sight. Then he crosses his arms and looks sternly into your eyes, waiting on your move.  
  
You revisit the button, even more slowly this time. Too slowly, he thinks, like you’re waiting for something else to interrupt you.  
  
And like karma can hear you, his phone starts to ring.  
  
He curses loudly and you laugh, leaning back to grab your champagne. Jinki has to lift his hips (and you, too, you always forget how strong Jinki is and it always makes you feel some type of way) to get to the smartphone, and reading the caller ID has him cursing some more.  
  
It’s their live-in manager, who probably came back to the dorm from greeting his family and is currently wondering where the group leader is.  
  
“Can I just not answer?” He’s not really asking you but maybe saying it out loud will help convince him to let this call go to voicemail, he can always come up with some excuse later. You shrug, getting up because his champagne flute is empty and you think you should lower the volume on your speakers. He watches you walk to and from the kitchen, Moët in hand and music now a pleasant hum, and he remembers that this is part of his profession and part of his contract. But it’s still not fair.  
  
He’s cute when he’s torn between play and work, and as you refill his glass, you have to admit that you can definitely get some fun out of this situation.  
  
Jinki reluctantly lifts the phone to his ear and says a formal, polite greeting, and it gives you all the right ideas. “Yes, hyung?”  
  
Conversation is light; Jinki looks disappointed but totally relaxed. You think he forgot how upset he’d been just a moment ago, and it makes you a little jealous. You’ve always known your greatest competitor would always be Jinki’s career, and you never feel the need to really fuck with it.  
  
Toying with it, however…   
  
“Oh, sorry about that,” Jinki starts, and you know he’s about to spout a lie about where he is when his arm stretches out to grab his champagne glass.  
  
You walk closer and his eyes are swiping your neckline and you never noticed how much he liked doing that, and then they drift a little lower because your fingers are around the very first button of his shirt again and you’re about to retake your spot on his lap. When he looks up at you, your smirk is outright malignant before off the button goes. And the one below it. And the next. “I’m over at… my parent’s house in… Gwang… myeong…”  
  
He gulps and gives you wide, pleading eyes when he gets the full view of your navy blue garter slip, like this is the best thing that’s ever happened to him but also the most heartbreaking. It’s all flowery, sheer lace that tugs at the bits of him that aren’t all that good, the bits that are darker. The parts of Jinki you’re the most curious about, because you’ve only caught glimpses of them when he stays over till it’s really late and refuses to take his hands or his mouth off of you, when you wake up from one of your nap dates and he doesn’t want you to leave his side or the bed so he cages you with his whole body, or when you kiss him goodnight and tug at his shirt and he looks at you a little bit like he’s looking at you right now. His eyes are cloudy, his mouth agape because he’s still trying to give you a proper but guarded reaction to the way the garment hugs the small of your waist all the way down to the orbit of your hips. His gaping mouth seems to mean something to you, and his eyes widen further when you straighten your back to get his shirt fully out of the way. Then you descend on his lap and look him in the eyes with something caught between awe and vainglory in your gaze.  
  
There’s something awfully empowering about looking down at Jinki. The view of him peering up at you like this, like he’s starved of water and food and spirit and you’re still all he wants, is too gratifying, so much that you have to reward him with a tiny kiss to the lips and nothing else, because he’s still trying to put on the mask of Onew and you still want to play.  
  
The manager’s saying something about Jinki’s hometown that’s too chatty for what he’s seeing right now, and he chokes out a fake laugh as his eyes scan you up and down one more time because he cannot believe what he is seeing and because he’s a little scared of the smug look on your gorgeous, gorgeous face. He spreads his legs to better accommodate your body, shifting dangerously close to where he really wants you, and your every move makes him lose a little more air. You’re so warm, almost to the point that it burns him, but it’s still delightful. His mouth is watering and he’s forced to gulp down all of the champagne you just poured, and he drinks the bubbly on your flute, too. The manager takes notice of the noise and asks if Jinki’s throat has been hurting more.  
  
To which he laughs, because he’s feeling something that’s close to pain, alright, but only between his legs. And you look awfully content about it.  
  
“It’s fine, actually— ” but the elder interrupts, re-briefs Jinki on the doctor’s visit next week and their background. Jinki kicks his head back on the couch and wants to roll his eyes but he gets distracted by the plumpness of your breasts, and the way his teeth bite impatiently at his lower lip has you smiling until he’s looking into your eyes with lust and a little bit of anger.  
  
“I’m sorry, am I distracting you?” you tell him in that coy undertone he loves, leaning forward to press the most chaste kiss under his free ear, your hands caressing his thighs because you’ve always had a huge weakness for how nice and firm they feel under your fingertips. You even start to [h](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DbmLMPFXzBLA&t=NjBlZjM0NjQ1YjQ2MjQ5ZjkyYmIyMmE0ZjIxMTBlNWQzNWYxODVlNyxSVWZTQjN0SQ%3D%3D&b=t%3AcXtpvFymmD9Dd4fNv0MUqQ&p=https%3A%2F%2Fhitchhikingbabeh.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F142450416648%2Fcafun%25C3%25A9-m&m=1)um along to the song playing from your speakers, too fitting for what you’re asking Jinki to play along to, and he’s forgetting to breathe. His first instinct is to hold you with his free hand and somehow attempt to stop you, but it does little to help because he feels the lace under his palm and forgets what little resolution he had. Then his hand is carefully moving around your body, marvelling at how pretty you are, how much more he wants to touch and you’re grinning wider.

He almost whimpers when you hold on to said hand, helping him to feel the warmth on the small of your waist, the smoothness of the lace up your chest until you drag his hand across one of your breasts so he can squeeze while your own hand rests on the other. You’re smiling and even let out the tiniest whimper when he squeezes again, this time by his own volition, and he’s already breaking a sweat and it doesn’t help when you hold his hand in both of your own so you can kiss his knuckles.   
  
All sorts of alarms are going off in his brain, some telling him to throw the phone anywhere away from him, another insisting that he’s still on the job, that he’s always on the job and this isn’t supposed to be happening but it is and he had no idea how badly he wanted it. Jinki hears you hum because he’s really tense, especially when you lean in to draw a path to the crook of his neck with your mouth, his hand now around your neck. He breathes deeply but makes no noise and tries to pay attention to his manager again but every particle of his body is begging him to bring this call to a brief close.  
  
It’s when you bite marks into Jinki’s neck that his breath hitches and his resolve becomes concrete. His manager wants to meet with all of his vocal instructors before the appointment and he’s asking about the younger’s availability and he still sounds all business and Jinki is starting to get properly angry.  
  
“I won’t be back until tomorrow,” he’s firmer now, and the words earn him another, harder bite, this one closer to his jugular, and it makes him press his lips together to stop from cursing or moaning, “I’m actually out for a late dinner with my mother right now,” he adds through gritted teeth, his fingers tugging lightly at your hair to make you face him, and he tries to meet your eyes and will you to stop but you look at him with the most sinful smirk and kiss the inside of his wrist and he knows he’s playing a losing game.  
  
You’re soothing the marks on his neck with languid swipes of your tongue, blowing on them with that wicked grin on your lips, and then you tuck golden hair behind his ear and pull back because he’s pulling at your hair again and his gaze is getting cloudier, which tells you that you’re getting the upper hand.  
  
For a long time now, Jinki’s been wondering what it is about you that resonates so vividly with him. You share a lot of interests, travelling and music and singing and adventure and philosophy. But there has always been something else, something a little bit darker and less good about you that he saw in himself. And he catches it, finally in full view and glory, when he searches your eyes just then. His manager’s voice starts to fade out again, everything around him but you starts to fade out because your eyes are asking for his full attention and only one other thing.  
  
 _More_.  
  
It also happens to be precisely what you see in his eyes just a moment later, when he lets out a heavy breath and lets the phone slide out of his grasp, down the sofa and to the floor. The manager was saying some sort of closing statement that would be likely followed by a farewell, anyway, and Jinki isn’t going to wait to find out.  
  
He’s a bit scared of breaking the irresistible ambiance you’ve created, so he keeps quiet and his hand comes around your neck to join the other. He pulls you close because he wants to breathe a little more of your air before he gives in to you, and your eyes turn even darker, more sensuous than he even thought possible.  
  
“You’re very mean,” he smiles, and his hands are hungrier now, running down and over the curve of your ass to bring you just a tad bit closer to him, so you can feel the hardening tent in his pants, “and very, very beautiful.”  
  
You hum in response because you know, and you’re about to tease him some more when you feel both of his hands on the back of your thighs. You don’t expect it when he stands up, your knees pressing at his sides for support, and he smirks when you smile. His hold on you is firm and strong, at least until he’s kissing you hard and pushing you against the nearest wall, until your feet are on firm ground again and he has to pull back to look at you because the desire in your eyes is too enticing and he’s wondering if you see the need in his own.  
  
It’s during these moments, when his chest and his arms crowd you, that Jinki sees you differently, like how he saw you at that rooftop. You’re small in his eyes, delicate, with a fire roaring inside but still fragile. Like those glass objects people always told him to stay away from so he wouldn’t break them with his loud energy or clumsy behavior, and it’s just one of the reasons why he was so helplessly attracted to you. The others are all vastly different; he loves your love for art, your love for knowledge and your tireless, unattached affection for wants and needs of the good and the darker kind. And it just so happens that on top of being very fond of your brain, he’s also very fond of your body.  
  
His nose brushes past the bridge of yours and he breathes in hard and deep, his fingers reaching out to find your hands because he’s trying to figure out why he feels everything so intensely right now. Maybe it’s because he’s already so affected by the other parts of you; because he’s treaded the shallows and he’s taken a dive into the depths but he’s never stood in between. The middle layers of you are displayed right in front of him right now, the landscape of your skin tempting him with your more carnal secrets and he can’t wait to explore.  
  
Jinki’s mind is racing and you can see it in his eyes. It makes your cheeks feel hot, it makes you painfully aware of your pretty slip and your naked arms and legs, the throbbing, dampening heat between them. You feel like you’ve drunk a quarter of your weight in caffeine, like you’ve had your fill of cocaine or MDMA, but you’ve touched neither. The body in front of you is still but scalding hot, Jinki’s mere centimetres away and you wonder why he’s not moving any closer.   
  
“Are you mine?” his voice paralyses you, it’s soft and demanding at once, and his words are heavy. The single sentence feels more important, more pivotal than anything he’s ever said to you, and you understand immediately.  
  
So your hand slips from his to hook on one of the belt loops of his jeans, and the way you tug him even closer to you makes him smile. “Aren’t I?”  
  
But he screws his eyes shut with impatience and presses his lips together because he wants to kiss you but he needs to know first, he needs to know for sure. “Tell me,” he’s surprisingly authoritative, so much that it intrigues and arouses you at once.  
  
“Yes,” you decide to leave out the  _idiot_  that was meant to be at the end of that sentence, because you know he does this for your benefit and not just his. “Yes,” it soothes you, telling him that he has nothing to fear so neither do you, and it makes the taste of his lips that much sweeter when he breaches the sliver of distance left between you and circles his hand around your neck to grab at the roots of your hair.  
  
He sucks in a breath when you push him away for a moment, just so you can grab the hem of his hoodie and pull it over his head, and he gets his words back. “Why don’t you ask me?”  
  
You drop the garment to the ground and shoot him a reassuring smile. “Because I already know.” That, and because deep down you know that even now, there’s still a part of him that you can’t touch, but you don’t mind because you’ll get there eventually, and uncharted territory has always excited you.  
  
For now, you revel in the feeling of his chest against yours, how the ripples in the muscles of his back feel under your fingertips, and how much you want to feel his bare skin against your own, because all you feel now is a bit of warmth and the thin coat of sweat already covering him because you’ve put him through quite a bit in a short time. Jinki has been in your bedroom dozens of times, but he’s still guarded as you draw a clumsy path toward it; his hands sit almost chastely on your waist even when your bed is hitting the back of your thighs.  
  
You deal with his shirt and throw it out of sight just before letting yourself fall backwards on the cool comforter, and Jinki smiles when he remembers that you’ve cut your hair. He moves to run his hands through the strands, and gets to the tie holding the bun in place. You’re smiling when you feel his hand pull firmly but carefully till your hair is a pretty halo around your head and the way he looks at you makes your face a bit warmer.  
  
“I really do love this haircut,” he leans his weight on the arm he places by your waist to peer at you, and you prop yourself on your elbows to meet his eyes. He moves closer, smiling at the way your hair tickles your clavicle, and presses a kiss to the bone and then to your mouth. “This, too,” he pulls back and his eyes linger on the slip for a moment before he starts pressing kisses to your clothed breasts and his hand trails down to your matching lace panties. Then he shoots you a smug, possessive smile that makes you tremble.  
  
You probably have no idea how good you look, and after a once over at your room, he decides that it needs to change.  
  
His expression hardens and you’re at that crossroads between curious and turned on again. You shudder when his finger hooks on the hem of your underwear, and you try not to hiss when the material slides down your legs because you’re dangerously aroused and any small friction licks fire at your insides. Jinki looks very pleased; now he knows he wasn’t the only one suffering at your mercy, and he kneels and his hands settle at your inner thighs to spread them apart just a little. You peer over to watch him sigh contentedly and move closer, just until his breath hits your skin and you’re shivering some more. He meets your eyes right before he starts to press moistened lips up your inner thighs; it’s all butterfly kisses to tease you, to get a reaction, and you’re clutching at your bedsheets and he’s delighted.  
  
Then he pulls back and stands, because he has all night to draw a map of every inch of you with his body, and smiles when you whine audibly.  
  
“On all fours.”  
  
You didn’t expect that at all, and you’re smirking when you start to move. Tempting the darker sides of Jinki was definitely the best course of action you could have taken, and you hope to do it plenty in the future. He’s taking care of his pants and briefs as you shift, and you look sideways at the half-hard greatness of his cock a moment later and your mouth waters when your eyes climb up the trail of his navel.  
  
“My, my,” your undertone is back, and it makes him hum and you’re grinning. You’d heard things, rumors from the mouths of other idols and staff, that Jinki hides really well under the guise of an innocent boy but he’s not, that no one really hears about him sleeping around but that it is still a known fact that he’s well-endowed and very good at exercising his gifts. You want to laugh, because deep down you know that you’re already so fucking whipped by Lee Jinki that the rumors don’t matter to you, because having this view alone is making your walls clamp around nothing.  
  
Jinki’s smirking at you when you reach his eyes, like he can see the gears turning in your head, and then he moves you so you’re facing the foot of the bed. His grip is soft, careful, and his hands are hot on your skin as you feel them running down your back. Then he’s behind you, his hands circling your hips and feeling the lace again because it’s so soft that he almost wants to rip it off of you. Not yet, though. Not yet.  
  
You’re getting a little more eager, so you push back against him, rubbing your bare ass against his hard-on with only a little spite. You hate being made to wait and you’re still probing the greedier parts of Jinki, and you moan when he responds by pulling you even harder against him.  
  
“Are you still mad about earlier?” your voice is venal and thick and it makes him laugh; it’s really nice and bright and kind of out of place but always pleasant to hear. It contrasts the way he teases at your entrance with two of his fingers, just to hear you whine and push back a little more, and he laughs again because he’s enjoying this far too much to speed up.  
  
“Are you afraid I won’t give you what you want?” he can’t not take advantage of this, savor the way your head falls on the bedsheets because you’re getting even more impatient, and he wonders why he ever feels insecure about how you feel about him when you’re this wet, this needy right now. You whine again and it compels him to replace his fingers with the blunt head of his cock, and you’re about to say something pretty colourful when he slides right in and your words turn into a long sigh.  
  
It’s so slick it almost hurts, he’s like velvet pushing through your walls and you forget if you heard the unwrapping of a condom somewhere in your haste but you don’t give a single fuck. You’re on the pill anyway, he knows because he’s seen you take them, because you whine about being on birth control to him all the time and he always teases you about it, and you sure as hell are not making any pauses now. So you arch your back against him and press your legs together to feel more of him, and you can hear his fluttering breaths, feel them on the nape of your neck when his hand comes over your abdomen. You gasp when he pulls you up because it makes him shift deliciously inside you, and you moan when your back hits his chest.  
  
Though the feeling of all of him inside you is more than enough reason to make you smile, you don’t really understand the sudden change in position. But then your breath fans your hair out of your face, and it all makes sense. Jinki’s chin lands on your shoulder and you catch yourself panting even though he hasn’t moved much yet.  
  
“Look at you,” he breathes in your ear, low and raspy, and you do, you look up at the large mirror above your dresser and you moan again, louder. You’ve never really been one to chase after narcissistic kinks, and even now you’re more focused on Jinki’s reflection on the mirror and not yours, on the way his hands run around your waist and through your breasts and down to your hips and not much else, and Jinki notices. He doesn’t like it when you ignore him, so he starts to move, though not before coaxing your legs apart a little so he can slip in a little deeper. His hands clutch harder at your hips to pull up and push down, and his own move to match until you’re moaning even louder.  
  
“ _Look at you_ ,” he repeats, breathlessly and with his lips touching your earlobe, and now you’re kicking your head back against his shoulder to keep upright because you love how his voice sounds right now and you want to hear more. You can’t stop yourself from looking at the mirror now, you don’t know how he manages this kind of movement and you want to see and… you look… no, you feel, fucking stunning. You’re minutely obsessed with his knit brows and the way he breathes through gritted teeth, and for a moment you catch a glimpse of the lust radiating from every part of you and every bit of him, how you end where he begins and it makes your head hazy.  
  
Jinki groans when your hands go around to grab at his hair, and you laugh and cry out when he thrusts in deeper, rougher in retaliation. You don’t try to keep yourself upright after that, you let yourself fall forward because you know he’ll follow; there’s still a smile coating your moans when his chest drapes over your back and when he nibbles on your ear, it only disappears when his hand crawls from your inner thighs to the space between them.  
  
“You’re so pretty and so warm,” he can’t control himself or his mouth, and even if he could, he wouldn’t, “so snug and so fucking wet for me.”  
  
It’s just too good, the way you repay his every word with a moan because you’re weak for the way his voice sounds; the way your eyebrows furrow when he kisses down your neck, the way you push your hips back and shut your legs closed because you love the pace he’s setting but you want more, because you know he has more to give and that he will gladly give it.    
  
You purse your lips when his index and middle finger find your clit; it’s swollen and wet and a single swipe from the digits makes you whimper and makes your legs spread open for him. He lets out a breathy laugh and draws smooth lines up and down the nub, just until you hiss and he can hear your whines even before they leave your lips.

“Jinki,” you pant, and his movements slow; his thumb replaces his other fingers and the touches are lazier now, because he knows exactly what you’re about to say. “M-more.”

It’s setting him on fire, the way your voice sounds, what you’re asking for. “What do you want?”

“I want to turn around, please, let me turn around.”

“Why?” he asks pompously, and you bite your lip because he never lets you win.

“I need to see your face,” a whimper interrupts you because he’s still being mean and you don’t want to give in yet, “let me see you, please.”

He grins gratefully, releasing you as you rise to your knees to turn around. You want him back inside you the moment he pulls out, so you make quick work of your hands to push him down on the bed till his back is up against your headboard, and the coolness of it makes him smile. His own hands are on your hips in seconds, because he misses the heat of your walls closing in around him, too, and you curse when the hot hardness burns your entrance again. There’s no use in holding back or hesitating now, Jinki can see the need, the want on your face too clearly now, and when he slips back in, you kick your head back and groan through pursed lips and curse again.

Only then does Jinki realise that your garter slip’s zip is at the front.

You look down when you don’t feel one of his hands on your body anymore, and you can’t help but hum and smile as you feel the lace loosen around your frame. His breathing falters when the slip slides down your arms, deepening when you throw the garment out of sight, because all he can think about is how badly he wants to touch all of you right now.

“Better?” you laugh when your hands go around his neck, and all this time he’s forgotten to move but you don’t mind.

“Better,” he answers in a bated breath, eyes on yours as he kisses up the valley between your breasts and his fingers dig into your ribs and the pain is fucking delicious. Your hands grab at his hair and he leans into your touch to catch you by the mouth and he moans when you start to roll your hips again, his own starting to buck up just as he registers how you look mixed in with how you feel and his mind and body are reeling.

_“Mmm_ , just like that,” his entire body shudders for a moment and he moans again when you take advantage of the distance between you to nip at his lower lip. In seconds, his hands get busier, pushing down on your tailbone, his nails sinking into your skin because he doesn’t want you to speed up but you feel fucking incredible and he wants more, “that’s so good, ride me just like that.”

Jinki is exquisite. You’ve already decided you love the caramel of his skin, and fondness morphs into something a little less dainty now that he’s exposed and hard and all Jinki and entirely at your mercy. So you pick up the pace, let him dig into the depths of you. His lips are kissing and marking all over your chest and he looks so good, so greedy and so ready to be satiated, so happy to be drowning in you. Too many things are consuming you right now that it’s come to the point where you can’t describe one feeling without it stemming into another. You only know to focus on the movement of your hips, on the grip that your hands take on Jinki’s shoulders and the way his girth feels on your clamping walls; the way he breathes in your skin, the way the pain of his marks mixes in with the flinting fire at your core.

Then he looks up at you, your panting cooling his glistening chest, your breasts bouncing to match your increasing speed and he lets out a low hum. It makes your eyes focus on his, and for a moment you’re surprised at his blown out pupils and it makes you aware of his quickened breathing. So you grin, letting your hand settle on the back of his neck so you can pull him towards you and kiss him once, almost innocently. He grunts and his eyebrows furrow with need, his hands coming around your neck to bring you closer and his eyes begging you for more,  _more_.

This game isn’t about speed, it’s about power, the coil in your stomach is beginning to wind tighter but you don’t want this to end yet because you haven’t played all of your cards.

“Are you mine?”

And neither has he.

“Do you really need to hear me say it?” you grin, talking helps you slow down and remember to feel, and feel you do, especially when Jinki bites into your skin because you’re being vague and you whimper, delighted. “All yours, Lee Jinki. I’m all fucking yours.”

Every inch of Jinki is agonising and amazing at once, and you push yourself a little further down on him until the tip of him brushes against the deepest layer of you and you want to scream. You gasp and clench instead, a moan crawling up your throat, and Jinki coaxes it out of you when he clutches your hips and lifts you suddenly, just to rut into the same crevice again, and again, and again.

“Do you like that?” he’s grinning and you nod, but he wants to hear your voice, so he moves faster, pushes you down deeper. “How much?”

The look on your face is just too pure, almost innocent, for him to handle. He can’t help but want to corrupt you until your walls start to clench harder around him, until he can feel his heartbeat in the tips of his ears, until he remembers that this is more than a game and a chase for pleasure.

“So much,  _so fucking much,_  don’t ever stop, please,” you’re glowing and arching your back with astounding grace, so he can’t not press kisses and suck bruises down your chest until his lips are pressed against your breasts, your nipples hardened under his touch. The entirety of you is a complete delicacy and he has every intention of devouring you.

And you fight back, your nails raking down his shoulders because you’re on the very edge of the peak of pleasure and you feel too good, too alive, and you grip his hand when you feel it move toward your swollen clit because your breathing is shortening. “Not yet,” you pant, your lips on his ear, “please, Jinki,  _please._ ”

Jinki moans out your name and you fall in love with the sound immediately, so you yank his head away from your skin to suck and bite and lick at his lips, and he responds in kind.

This is almost too much and not enough, Jinki’s bucking his hips to meet yours and you’re coming down harder on him until your thighs start to shake and your mouth splits from his. One of your favorites of the year is [r](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DmlOM13vA_7o&t=ZTEzODQzYjQ1YjM4ZTAyODBjZTc5ZmQxNmExYWRhYzFmMDE5YWFkNSxSVWZTQjN0SQ%3D%3D&b=t%3AcXtpvFymmD9Dd4fNv0MUqQ&p=https%3A%2F%2Fhitchhikingbabeh.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F142450416648%2Fcafun%25C3%25A9-m&m=1)inging from the living room and it opens your ears to the sound of skin on skin, on the languid noises of his mouth on you and the harshness of your breathing. This must be some kind of delayed sensory overload but you’re starting to arch your back again because your body is white hot and tightening almost vengefully. So you clutch at Jinki’s shoulders and give in to your own body, let it move on its own until you feel every muscle tautening, bracing, winding. And you’re not alone.

You feel Jinki scratching down your back and grunting against your skin, and a moment later there’s a foreign but welcome heat filling you up, tainting you, marking you. Jinki’s mouth is at your ear now, and he’s trying to keep level but it’s impossible; you’re so tight around him that he can’t help calling out to you, can’t decide if he should curse or praise you for making him feel this good, for taking him this fucking high. The sound of his voice throws you over the brink, and you feel your pulse in every inch of your body and pleasure in every fissure, every cell. It’s like you’ve never known an orgasm in your life and Jinki’s penetrated body and mind and gone straight to your fucking soul just to make you feel the tension and dilation all at once.

You breathe out his name, and repeat it once, twice, your eyes screwing shut because you can’t take this but you will, and you feel his breath on your wet lips.

“I’m here,” he kisses the corner of your mouth, you don’t have to say anything else because he feels what you feel, “I know.”

You’re still gasping for air when your toes start to uncurl, your hands on his cheeks when he kisses you and pushes till your back hits the mattress because he’s drained and full at once, sated and brimmed with bliss and he can feel how your body melts against his own so he knows you feel the same way. You sigh when he pulls out and you miss him already, and you stretch your arms in his direction because you’re already addicted to this. He’s on top of you in seconds, landing on your chest with a whine because he can’t stand to be more than two inches away from you, either, and it makes you laugh, heightens everything you’re feeling.

“I never want to leave this bed,” he breathes into your skin and plants a kiss to your chest, his heartbeat erratic. A different kind of heat shoots up your neck and spreads through your cheeks, and you meet his eyes when he lifts his head to look at you. “Let’s never leave this bed.”

“Don’t you want to christen the rest of the apartment?”

“Hm, I love the way you think,” he pecks your lips one more time before his ear presses against your heart, and you giggle yourself when his arms wrap around your waist. You don’t find it in you to give a fuck about the sweat on your skin and his or about the mess you’ve made of the bed, all you can do right now is laugh because even the weather is delightfully cool to coddle tonight’s exploits.

“You know,” he starts after a beat, “I never checked if my manager hung up.” 

Oh, well. If anything, he must’ve heard one hell of a show. Which reminds you of something else entirely, and you look down at your torso to find that… well, maybe you shouldn’t wear clothes with deep necklines for a while. Then you check Jinki’s neck and shoulders and laugh when your fingers trace the outline of the handful of marks there. 

”Should I be worried?” he asks when your chortles don’t settle, and you move to push his fringe back. But you shake your head because the marks will probably be gone by the time he has to go anywhere he will be photographed. And hey, it’s not like you haven’t been witness to Taemin showing up to work with a spotted neck before, and you’re even a little proud of the deep red marks. You’ll never say it out loud, but you love to think that you’re all that’s ever on Jinki’s mind, and you rather like the idea of him showing off these marks wherever he goes. 

His weight is really nice, and you laugh at the way he wraps your legs around his waist and snuggles into your chest. There’s little else you want to do except smile, humming along to the [m](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DuPy5igZJnVw&t=ZWIzMzlmMmYyMjRhMjhlZWEwOGE0YTQwMTc4NTNlOGRmYzY2N2EwZixSVWZTQjN0SQ%3D%3D&b=t%3AcXtpvFymmD9Dd4fNv0MUqQ&p=https%3A%2F%2Fhitchhikingbabeh.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F142450416648%2Fcafun%25C3%25A9-m&m=1)usic slipping in through the living room as you caress and tug at the soft strands of Jinki’s hair, the aftershocks of pleasure still plucking at your nerves.

“Is it okay if I hold on to you?” his voice is more serene and he looks at you with older, wiser eyes, because he really won’t survive you leaving one more time. He knows that he depends too much on you already, that you’re the only good thing he knows outside of his neighbourhood friends, outside of SM, outside of his family. “Is it okay if I ask you not to run again?”

Even now he feels a little like he’s taking advantage of you, like he’s being unfair.

You think he’s perfect, though, and you really want to tell him, but you don’t. Instead, you kiss him, sincerely, until his tongue pries your lips apart and you can taste all of him again. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” you tell him in the middle, and his smile spreads and you see the glint of his teeth. Even if you wanted to run, you couldn’t; you’re too attached, too invested… you’re too happy.

At least for now, there’s no need for you to run.

 

> _[i](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3Dd6DHWdoyc2I&t=OTMxMmFiZWFmYzQ5ZmU5MmMyYjFhZjlmNGZjMDEzZTkzNmE5YjUyZCxSVWZTQjN0SQ%3D%3D&b=t%3AcXtpvFymmD9Dd4fNv0MUqQ&p=https%3A%2F%2Fhitchhikingbabeh.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F142450416648%2Fcafun%25C3%25A9-m&m=1)t feels like i’m moving mountains_  
  
Nobody knows where you are for the next couple of weeks. Jonghyun tries to reach you the morning after your almost date, but your phone is off. He sends text message after text message but you never answer, and after two days, he calls to find out the phone has been disconnected.  
  
He can’t catch a break to check on you properly, and it’s driving him insane. He can’t skip out on Blue Night or recording for Blue Night, he can’t stop composing or writing because there’s an album of his own work out in the streets. He’s working on a book and his second set of Agit concerts start today, and there’s no space for him to breathe because the end year ceremonies are kicking off soon, as well.  
  
It’s fair to say that he can no longer ignore the knowing looks from Taemin when they practice together, that he can’t look Jinki in the eyes anymore because he has no idea where he stands, and it doesn’t help that they look at him like nothing is happening. They talk to him, eat and drink and joke with him like nothing is out of place.  
  
In the grand scale of things, nothing is. Not right now. They’re all in great condition, Kibum’s a bit under the weather because he’s lost a lot of weight in the past few weeks, but other than that, the group is in top shape. Vocal lessons have given everyone honey sweet falsettos, top shape harmonising and strong and fluid belting. Taemin’s preparing for his first full length album, Minho’s filming two more films, Jinki’s about to wrap with his KBS drama and Kibum is filming with every prominent broadcast station in the country. Everyone’s making music, making money and hustling.  
  
There’s nothing really wrong.  
  
Jonghyun never noticed how in the past two years, he’s probably only heard Jinki mention you by name twice while working, maybe three times if he really sat down and thought about it. He never thought you two even argued because he wouldn’t hear about it, and if things were really rough, Jinki would always wait till they left the practice room or the dorms to talk about it.  
  
It never really hit him how separate his work was from every other aspect of his life, how it’s not just a habit of his, but of the four young men around him, too. It’s what discourages him from telling Taemin about his worries, but it also makes him wonder if Taemin is talking to you at all, if he knows where you are because if anyone at all knows, it’s definitely him.  
  
But he doesn’t, because Taemin comes up to him to show him a clip of a new [s](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DOz3mm3tPKfg&t=NTg1N2E0MjMxZjZhMDgwYTcyYTM4Zjc2MzY5YjU1YzBlZGEzMjAwNCxSVWZTQjN0SQ%3D%3D&b=t%3AcXtpvFymmD9Dd4fNv0MUqQ&p=https%3A%2F%2Fhitchhikingbabeh.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F142450416648%2Fcafun%25C3%25A9-m&m=1)ong he’s about to record, one he hopes will be at least the B-side for his single. And then the younger presses Jonghyun to give him a song, a composition, anything, because hyung is really good and really popular and he’d love for some of his art to be a part of his first full solo album, and it makes him happier than he can say with words.  
  
Jinki is no more and no less present than he always has been, though he goes home a bit more often. He’s more focused on acting than on singing, and he’s already told Jonghyun that it’s because he’s still afraid to test the boundaries of his voice; he feels like it’s not rested enough, and that he needs more vocal lessons. Otherwise, he’s just Jinki, the reliable older brother he’s always had, the same person he can always count on for a joke and a drink and a relaxing conversation.  
  
No one has spoken about the night that the eldest disappeared, no one has asked where he went, what he did there. Jonghyun asks his three younger mates why, and the answer is too pure, too white, and ultimately the naked truth.  
  
“Because we trust him.” That’s what this group is, this alliance; they trust each other completely and that’s why they are who they are, why no one else sounds or looks or behaves like them, and Jonghyun had almost forgotten. Jinki’s relationship with you is his business, not Jonghyun’s. Taemin’s relationship to you is his business, not Jonghyun’s. Jonghyun’s relationship to you is… hanging in the balance, because he doesn’t know anymore.  
  
He doesn’t know if it was the greedy child in him that followed you around even though he knew you’d exchanged hearts with someone else, or if it was the serene, sensitive young man who wanted to be held and protected, be made to feel safe.  
  
What is he supposed to do? A part of him refrains from bringing you up because he knows Taemin is not on his side. He won’t go to Jinki because he knows that the elder has been in love with you for ages, and he’s jealous and scornful and all is fair in love and war, anyway.  
  
Practice draws to a close and Minho peaces out because he’s late for filming, Key’s off to pre-record for M!Countdown, and Jonghyun is set to go to MBC in an hour. The other two stay back with him to hitch a ride to the dorms, and the expanse of the practice room is surprisingly tense once the three are left by themselves.  
  
So they decide to go and get food, because that almost always makes everything better. It’s no surprise they settle on going for junk food; they all look a little haggard and even Taemin’s worried about how much weight Jonghyun is dropping.  
  
The food joint isn’t empty but it’s not bursting with people, and they bring along managers just in case anyone recognises them. Queuing and ordering is simple, the staff here know them because being close to SM means they see their artists regularly. The wait for food is short, and they stand by the pick-up counter for a few minutes.  
  
And in those few minutes, fate decides to give him a slap in the face.  
  
You look good. Really good; your cheeks are rosier than the last time he saw you, and the smile you give to the people seated with you is brilliant. It should remind him of the times you smiled at him like that, but all he can think about is how he’s seen you smile just like that with Jinki seated next to you, when Taemin says something dumbly funny, when Minho drinks too much wine and lets his tongue run with his mind.  
  
The memories make him envious, he wants you to smile like that because of  _him_. His legs move before he can stop them, and he’s smiling wide with hope that you’ll catch him from the corner of your eyes and that you’ll be so glad to see him—  
  
Until Jinki holds him back by the arm. When the two lock eyes, Jinki shakes his head, and their food lands in a to-go bag in front of them moments later.  
  
 _Let her be. Give her space._  That’s what Jinki means. Not everything around you has to be about them, not every second of your day has to be spent thinking of them. You lead different lives and that’s okay, that’s one of the things they love about you the most.  
  
But why is Jinki so cool-headed? How has he remained cool-headed throughout this entire shit show? Why isn’t he fighting to get you back? Why isn’t he fighting Jonghyun to get you back?  
  
“Why didn’t you go after her?!” the outburst starts in the car, and Jinki sighs and shuts his eyes because he felt this coming the moment they walked out of the place. “Why did you hold me back?”  
  
Taemin tries to get Jonghyun to shut up but it’s too late, Jonghyun’s irises shoot fire at the side of Jinki’s head and no number of clever lines or funny faces are going to distract him now.  
  
“Why aren’t you doing anything? Why aren’t we fighting?”  
  
“Not now, Jonghyun.”  
  
“Now, Jinki. This needs to happen now,” because things aren’t as clear as they were that night, “I can’t keep quiet about this anymore and I want you to talk to me right now.”  
  
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His tone is still cool, and it almost makes Jonghyun snarl.  
  
“ _Bullshit_!” The car’s pulling over at the dorms garage and the driver and manager at the front do not even attempt to intervene.  
  
Jinki and Taemin get out of the car like nothing at all is amiss, and Jonghyun follows quietly only because he can hear the click of cameras echoing through the underground space.  
  
“Talk to me!” he shouts the second the three walk through the dorms threshold, the manager and driver choosing to stay behind to run other errands. “Somebody needs to talk to me and tell me what’s going on, please!”  
  
“You want to know what’s going on?” Jinki turns around and he’s livid, he’s angrier than Jonghyun has ever seen him and it’s terrifying. The glint in his eyes is gone, the curve of his voice is sinister and his expression is tightly controlled, not a single trace of his laughter lines in sight and not a hint of kindness in his gaze. “I’ll tell you what’s going on,” his voice is low, he doesn’t feel the need to bellow. 

“The relationship that I have spent the better part of  _five years_  trying to build is about to burn to ashes because I took out my anger and jealousy and greed on someone that I love. It takes every ounce of patience I have just to get through the day without wanting to go wherever she is and tell her that I’ll change, that I’ll be better. But that’s  _my_  problem, a problem that  _I_  am handling, and I do not appreciate you trying to meddle. So please, shut the fuck up for five minutes, think about all the work we have to get done before the year is over and  _go get it done_.”  
  
“Can we at least address the fact that we’re both in pain because of the same person?”  
  
“ _I don’t give a fuck if you’re in pain_!” Jinki’s yelling now, and Jonghyun’s courage is cowering. “Deal with it however you want, just don’t… don’t hurt her anymore.”  
  
The calamity is starting to settle.  
  
“I hate thinking that she’s crying about the way we’ve made her feel,” it’s ironic that Jonghyun hasn’t thought about it once, he always thought you were just happy to be loved, “I hate thinking that she has to choose because I know she doesn’t want to do that and I just don’t want her to be in pain.”  
  
Jinki’s in bad shape, worse than even Taemin imagined, and it hurts to stand in the middle of this without being able to say anything. The youngest won’t say it but he’s the only one that knows that Jinki’s fears are actually fact; that you changed your number so neither Jinki nor Jonghyun can reach you, that you’re focused on work now more than ever because it’s all that distracts you from thinking that you have to choose because you truly believe there’s no other way to fix this, that you’re refusing to see Taemin for now because it just hurts too much so texts and quick hello’s when they’re at KBS have to be enough.  
  
“If you really care about how this mess affects her,” Jinki’s voice is back to normal now, “please think about what she means to you, and treat her accordingly. Please think about what would make her happy. She deserves nothing less than that.”  
  
“What,” Jonghyun’s voice is tiny, timid now, “what does she mean to you?”  
  
Jinki actually laughs. “Isn’t it obvious?”  
  
It is.

  
  
> _[m](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DxiV0RN0mPSk&t=MzIyNTNhZGIyYjQzZWZhYzE5MTg0M2ExMmVkMmU4YjVkMzA0NmExYSxSVWZTQjN0SQ%3D%3D&b=t%3AcXtpvFymmD9Dd4fNv0MUqQ&p=https%3A%2F%2Fhitchhikingbabeh.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F142450416648%2Fcafun%25C3%25A9-m&m=1)ake a ladder of what folds and climb up in me  
_  
Just as he’d warned, Jinki barely lets you out of the apartment for the next week and a half, hellbent on conquering every corner of it before his schedule gets messy and impossible again (the only major location he has left is your shower, and it’s only because you think he’s too clumsy and might break his neck in there). You’d complain, really, but you can’t, because you only nearly get to work late when he stays with you. You don’t know how you keep getting away with letting him convince you that he won’t keep you both up all night, or how five minutes turn to ten or twenty but you’re still clocking in to the studio right on time the next morning. You don’t want to break your streak of luck, though, so you try to keep some kind of balance by denying Jinki of as many late-night adventures as possible.  
  
Keyword:  _try_. Because when his advances don’t work at night, he knows he’ll succeed in the morning. He knows that you’re particularly weak for the way he tries to pull you back to bed when you first wake up, how susceptible you are to his touch at the first sign of day, and he always convinces you that ten more minutes can’t make that much of a difference, anyway. And you always yield, damn you.   
  
Spring comes and goes beautifully, Jinki takes you to see the cherry blossoms almost every night (well, every morning, disgustingly early) that their petals coat the city like snow. You think at first that it’s because he likes them, but as it turns out, it’s because they help him forget about the less rosy things he’s going through.  
  
The only thing you don’t like about Lee Jinki is that he doesn’t like to show you the ugly sides of his everyday life, he doesn’t like to tell you about the ugly parts of his job. And you know for a fact that something’s up, because Jinki’s had you drop him off at different hospitals three times in less than a month but he never tells you what for.  
  
He just says he’s seeing different doctors with those specialties he can’t pronounce, that his throat hurts a little and that it usually doesn’t go on for this long, that he’s just making sure everything’s okay. “It’s fine, though,” he tells you every time, “I’m okay.”  
  
After the third doctor’s visit, you feel especially uneasy. He doesn’t contact you at all for the rest of the day, except once to let you know he’s going to be stopping by the dorms for a meeting with their management. You’re still worried but you don’t doubt him.  
  
At least until Taemin texts you to tell you that things are not fine. In the least.  
  
 _You need to come to the dorms.  
  
It wasn’t good.  
  
You need to come here quickly.  
  
He’s not okay._  
  
The moment the new Sketchbook director calls wrap, you speed out of the broadcast station and race to the lodging, too anxious to call Taemin and ask him to explain and too jittery to care about the small groups of fans loitering around the dorm building.  
  
The security downstairs don’t stop you when you walk past them, probably because you’re moving with purpose and you don’t look anyone in the eyes as you step into the elevator.  
  
Truthfully, this is only your third time in the building and everything about it is still anxiety-inducing.  
  
Kibum, Minho, and Taemin are standing outside their own front door when you step out of the lift. Kibum’s eyes are on the ground, Minho’s paled a few shades and Taemin is shaking. Jonghyun is sitting with his back propped up against the door and he’s worrying his lower lip between his teeth with a look in his eyes like he’s aged ten years in ten minutes.  
  
Then you hear the glass shattering, the thuds against the walls, the screaming.  
  
“What did they say?”  
  
Kibum doesn’t meet your eyes. “Vocal polyps. He’ll need surgery.”  
  
“When?”  
  
“Next week.”  
  
 _Fuck_.  
  
“How long is the recovery period?”  
  
“Up to a year, if he’s not careful.”  
  
But SM won’t give him that long, and you all know it.  
  
“He might not sound the same,” Kibum adds, and you look up to find tears welling his eyes just before there’s more crashing from inside the dormitory. “He’s scared he might not sound the same.”  
  
It takes a while for you to acknowledge Kibum’s words. Singing is Jinki’s whole world. You like to think of yourself as someone he values, someone he could even love, but there are two forces in this world you will never hold a candle to: his mother, and his music. Music is Jinki’s career, his life, he always tells you that he’s nothing without his voice, never mind his face or his body or his management. Without his voice, Jinki feels ordinary.  
  
For a moment, you actually consider that this may be your fault. That these are the consequences of your trying to play a dangerous game against his future, because he shines too bright and you’re weighing him down. That you don’t deserve him, so he’ll be hurting until you let him go.  
  
But the way you raise your head to face the door tells you that you don’t really believe all that.  
  
“He didn’t want me to tell you,” Taemin’s holding your arm, and you turn to him with warm eyes, “he didn’t want me to tell you especially.” You nod at him because Taemin did well by disobeying, and you tell him as much before looking down at Jonghyun to will him to get out of the way.  
  
You’ve barely shared more than twenty words with the man, but the way he smiles at you when he moves to stand beside Minho really makes you feel like things are going to be okay. There’s just something about the warmth in his eyes that’s so striking to you, and you think you may find out why one day. Just not today.   
  
“The managers just left to meet with the agency,” Minho supplies, and you turn to look up at him. His height always surprises you for some reason, and this is no different, and the look in his eyes tells you everything he’s never said. That he’s worried, for you and for him, that he wants this to work out for the best, that he thinks you might be the key that helps put everything back in its place. “They’ll be back soon, though.”  
  
It’s his way of saying that you’re wasting time.  
  
Taemin taps in the code to get the door open, and Minho gives your shoulder a supportive squeeze before you step inside. “Good luck.”  
  
You don’t need it, and he knows.  
  
Making your way inside isn’t difficult. Most of what’s shattered on the ground is unimportant: a couple of bottles of soju, one or two of wine, a few plates. You’re wearing high tops and you only feel the crunch of the material under your feet as you make your way to the living room. It’s dark but you know the basic outline of the place, and you find Jinki crying and sniffling and clutching his hands together because he can’t find anything else to break as he sits on the floor in the dead centre of the room.  
  
“ _I SAID GET OUT_!” this is the first time you encounter his anger and it terrifies you, but only for a moment. The tables and chairs are overturned, but the group’s trophies and awards are still in their places. The couch has been slid out of its place and even the massage chair is on its side. You expect yourself to be scared of this sight, but you’re a lot more afraid of the kind of pain that’s making Jinki do this. You take another step and more glass crunches under your feet.  
  
You flicker the lights on, and Jinki’s eyes are bloodshot when he looks up at you. He’s angry, sad and afraid and it’s heartbreaking.  
  
“W-why are you here?” his voice cracks and more tears are streaming down his face, “how did you know to come here? Who called you? Who told you to come here?”  
  
You start to move, and you see the panic flash in his eyes when he tries to look like he’s okay. “You can’t be here,” he says, “you’re not supposed to be here. I’ll come to yours later, so can you leave? I promise I’ll be there soon, okay? Just go, you can’t be here now—  ”  
  
He stops because you’re crying, too, and it tells him that it’s too late for excuses, it’s too late to lie. He watches you as you clear the space around him from glass and china, catches how the first tear rolls off your face and falls unceremoniously on the wooden floors.  
  
It hurts. “You don’t have to do that,” he tells you, getting up because he’s scared you’ll cut yourself, “someone can take care of that later. Just go, please, just leave.” He hates making you leave but he doesn’t know how else to deal with this. “I’m going to be okay soon, just go— ”  
  
He doesn’t realise how badly he’s crying until you wrap your arms around him. For a moment there’s only silence, he’s too shocked to say anything and you don’t think there’s anything you can say that’ll comfort him right now. So you wait. You wait until he stops holding back tears, until he stops trying to pretend that everything’s okay, until he stops trying to convince himself that he can get through this alone.  
  
You only remember to breathe when his forehead lands on your shoulder, when you can feel the dampness in his cheeks on your skin, when you can hear him wailing.  
  
“I’m so scared,” he sobs, and you know it’s not just because of this surgery. His arms wrap around you and pull you so close that it’s hard to breathe but you don’t care, and you wrap an arm around his shoulder and the other runs through the back of his head. “I’m so sorry.”  
  
There’s nothing you can say for either statement. You’re scared, too, you’re sorry, too. Maybe if you’d proposed quitting smoking together in January, if you’d made a game out of voice rest as part of your little indoor dates, if you didn’t make him sing you to sleep… maybe this wouldn’t have happened.  
  
You don’t need to tell him that this is also his job’s fault. You know he knows that if this year hadn’t been so busy, if the agency hadn’t overbooked them so much, this wouldn’t be happening, either.  
  
But fact remains, it is happening.  
  
Jinki’s scared that he won’t be able to sing in front of his fans anymore, and it makes him want to rip the world to shreds. It’s not right, if he can’t sing, he can’t live. What if he has to leave the group? Leave the agency? Do something else for a living? What if you leave him because he can’t sing anymore?  
  
He hates himself for getting so attached to you, hates himself for getting so attached to his fans, to his job. He wishes he could turn back time and take better care of himself, take better care of his fans, go back in time and somehow make it so you’d meet earlier, so that he could be with you longer…  
  
“Don’t push me away,” you say suddenly, and it makes him bite down on his lower lip till it bleeds, “you’re not alone. I’m right here, and Taemin’s right outside and Kibum and Jonghyun and Minho, too.” Jinki pulls himself upright and you reach out to touch his face as soon as you can, wiping his tears dry and stroking up the line of his cheekbone with your thumb.  
  
“I know that you want to get through this on your own, and I know you can,” there’s no doubt in your mind that if you didn’t come here today, you wouldn’t have known about this surgery until after it happened, “but hey, SHINee’s a team. SM is a team, technically. You and your family are a team. Us two, we’re a kind of team, too. A really sexy, power-coupley one,” you pause because he smiles and grabs a fistful of your shirt, “you don’t have to go through this alone.”  
  
It doesn’t make it all better, but your words make it easier to breathe, easier to smile again. And it’s more than enough for both of you right now.  
  
You hear the door open just as you rise to the tips of your toes to kiss Jinki, and you hear unfamiliar presences clearing their throats behind you.  
  
Then you turn around to meet all of SHINee’s management face to face for the very first time.

* * *

“How long have you two been seeing each other?”  
  
“Almost six months,” Jinki’s doing all the talking and his face is stony, though his hand is warm and comforting on your thigh. You’re also grateful for Taemin, who’s sitting next to you and probably feels more anxious than you do.  
  
“And you didn’t think to tell the agency because…?”  
  
“Because my group has no dating ban in place, nor do we have any obligation to report personal situations unless they’re of relevance to the agency. Our relationship brings no benefit to SM, so I didn’t feel the need to share the happy news.”  
  
The management clearly likes it when Jinki gets cheeky, because it mixes well with the familiarity that they’ve shared since the group debuted. Even Minho and Kibum are sniggering.  
  
“You’ve grown a lot, kid,” you recognise the eldest manager and catch the smile of the youngest, whom you now know has kept your secret all this time. “We won’t say anything to the higher ups. Mostly because this is excellent timing.”  
  
“How come?”  
  
“It’s good for you to have people to lean on, your recovery is going to be long and tedious,” it’s not what the managers are here to talk about, but there’s more than business to be discussed between people who’ve known each other for almost a decade. “It’s good to know you have the brats, your friends, your family and your girlfriend to support you. You have us infidels, too.”  
  
“I know,” the poison is gone from Jinki’s words, because he always comes in cold but he never has real bad intentions, “and I sincerely appreciate it.” That doesn’t mean he wouldn’t have kept your relationship a secret for as long as possible, but that’s beside the point.  
  
“I’ll give you a little bit of insight because I like Jinki a lot and I don’t want the company to give him shit for dating,” the eldest manager looks at you now. “Don’t get caught. If you’re seen anywhere, tell us and we’ll try to cover up the damage. But if the agency finds out, they’ll leak the information and the pictures, and they’ll deny the relationship to make it impossible for you to see each other. Ask any of these kids; all major agencies are ruthless about this.”  
  
He’s honest, and though not entirely friendly, you look forward to any conversation you may have with him in the future. “Thank you,” you tell him, and you mean it.  
  
“Don’t thank me,” he snaps back, but he’s smiling, “take care of this punk. Luckily for you, you’ll be seeing a lot of him for the next few months. The doctors don’t expect any surprises with the surgery and recovery will most likely be smooth as fresh butter, so buckle up and buy some note pads.”  
  
Jinki breaks down in tears when he tries to thank everyone, and your eyes are wide when every grown man in the room gets up to coddle the younger grown man seated next to you. The youngest manager even peeks at you while he pats Jinki’s back affectionately, and makes a face as if to ask you why you’re not doing anything.  
  
It’s because you’re having a bit of a happy cry yourself.

* * *

You skip work the day of the surgery, and Jinki is visibly concerned about the way you’re pacing back and forth in front of him after he’s checked into the hospital. You can’t keep calm, and it’s putting everyone on edge.  
  
“It’s going to be okay,” he’s scared shitless right now, too, but if you’re both panicking he might just jump out a window. “There’s very little risk of complications and I tend to heal quickly, so it’s going to be fine.”  
  
Kibum and Jonghyun second Jinki’s words, and Taemin is forced to hold your shoulders to make you stop pacing. Minho only laughs, because he understands exactly how you feel, and offers you a seat next to him on the tiny couch in the room.  
  
You take it because you understand their words but you can’t really process them, and sitting might help. A nurse comes in a moment later to tell Jinki that his parents are on their way in. Which brings a little more panic to your features.   
  
 _Fuck_.  
  
“I haven’t met your parents yet.” He only just realised, too, that you haven’t met them officially as his girlfriend, and he actually bursts out laughing. Today is really eventful.  
  
“It’s not like they don’t know you exist, they remember you,” Jinki reasons, “and I talk about you all the time.” But he doesn’t say anything else, so you don’t feel comforted when the door bursts open again and in comes the same couple you saw at that one performance of _Rock of Ages_. And Jinki’s mother looks just as elegant, just as uncannily like her son as you remember.  
  
She greets Jinki with a hug that makes them both cry for only two minutes, and then she embraces you, and your anxiety evaporates. It doesn’t surprise you to find your heart lightening and your thoughts clearing when she calls you by name and gives you a smile that makes you tear up, too, because it looks just like Jinki’s. 

“I was hoping I’d see you again,” she tells you, and her voice and her eyes are so warm that it makes you feel a little woozy, and she doesn’t tell you outright, but she’s so glad someone like you is by Jinki’s side, especially right now. She has the same effect on the other boys, who all welcome her affectionately. It must serve as a comfort to her, too, because you’re sure she can’t be as calm and collected as she looks.

You only start to panic again when another nurse comes in to take you all to the waiting room, because Jinki has to go do pre-op stuff and he’s already running late. Jinki’s alert, too, still as stone when his mother and father walk over to embrace him one last time, pale as a sheet when Kibum, Minho and Taemin come to hug him. Jonghyun lingers because he’s a singer and he can feel a little more of Jinki’s pain, and he claps the elder in the back and insists that he’ll sound good no matter what before he finally leaves.  
  
But he stays by the door.  
  
You’re not sure what to say to comfort Jinki right now. He’s really nervous, and it’s normal, so you don’t tell him not to be. He’s probably really scared and trying to look only mildly terrified, but that’s also normal and you don’t tell him not to be. But you don’t like how un-Jinki he looks, and you scan the room for something that might help him feel better.  
  
And you remember the one thing you’d stuffed in your purse before leaving home this morning.  
  
Jinki watches you with furrowed brows as you fish around the bag, and he feels a painful tug at his heartstrings when you pull out a familiar tiny duck and hold it up in front of him.  
  
“I asked the nurses, and they said you can bring him in with you,” you’re trying not to sound embarrassed but he can tell you totally are, “so you won’t feel like you’re alone.”  
  
“Jagiya,” he holds your face because you’re so, so cute, “I’m not two years old. I know I’m not alone.” The truth is he wasn’t sure until just a week ago, and his smile widens when you blush a deeper shade of pink.  
  
“I know you know, just humor me this once, okay? If anything, I’ll feel better—  ”  
  
“I love you.”  
  
What?  
  
Oh.  _Oh_.  
  
Your face becomes the exclamation mark personified, and the visual comes as no surprise to Jinki, who chuckles and takes advantage of the pause to peck your lips once. “And I’m not just saying it because I won’t be able to talk for a while.”  
  
“I love you, too,” no stuttering, no blinking, you don’t have to think about this because you’ve felt it for a while. “Ever since Drew Boley, I think,” you’re laughing because this feels so good, it feels so good to say this out loud and it’s a lot easier than you thought it would be and Jinki is beaming. “I really do, I love you. Like crazy. So don’t worry about anything because I’m still going to be in love with you no matter what happens in there, and we’re all going to love you regardless, okay?”  
  
He nods and chuckles when you reach up to kiss him, holds you for just a moment before the nurse comes back to hurry you out. Watching you go hurts a little, but he’s ready now. You can feel it in the strength of his voice when he calls your name again, when you turn around to find him smiling.  
  
It gives Jonghyun just enough time to slip away, because he’s heard enough, and he wonders if Jinki saved the world in another life to have this kind of luck, to have found someone like you.  
  
“I love you,” Jinki repeats, this time because he won’t be able to tell you again for a while and he can’t have you forgetting. The smile you answer him with assures him you won’t.

* * *

Getting knifed in the throat (okay,  _operated on_ ) hurts. A lot more than Jinki expected. The first thing he registers after he wakes up from the anaesthesia is pain, a lot of it, and the doctor and nurse by his bed urging him not to speak no matter what.  
  
But his throat is killing him. He needs water. So he tries to make the motion for it, and his movement is a bit slow but eventually, he gets the point across and the nurse gives him a small cupful of the clear liquid.  
  
Fuck, swallowing hurts.  
  
More doctors are coming over, and Jinki thinks this might be how it feels to be one of those fancy VIP patients he’s seen in dramas. He knows these people are only there because he’s an idol and they’d get sued pretty badly if they fucked up his voice box, but he appreciates the way they crowd around the hospital bed. It makes him feel less alone.  
  
Which reminds him… a bit of careful searching and he can feel Duckling tucked behind his back, and just the sight of the little thing when he places it on his lap is making him feel a little better already.  
  
“You’re probably in a bit of pain right now. Can you tell me how much, on a scale of one to ten?” it’s his anaesthesiologist talking, he realises after looking up, and he smiles down at Jinki. Jinki smiles back and holds his hands up.  
  
 _Eight_.  
  
The same doctor comes closer with a syringe that’s soon connected to his IV.  
  
Whoa.  _Nice_.  
  
“You’re going to probably fall asleep in a little bit, so we’ll be quick. The surgery went well, we want you to be on complete voice rest for two weeks at least to ensure everything heals smoothly. We’re going to brief your agency and your family about this, but you can’t talk at all, or cough. There should be absolutely no clearing your throat and no whispering during that time. We’ll be sending you off with some prescriptions for pain, a cough suppressant and something for acid reflux. Does your tongue feel numb?”  
  
 _Nope_.  
  
“Good. Rest up for now, we’ll have someone check that you can get all your basic functions done and then we’ll be sending you home.”  
  
Cool, the pain meds are kicking in and a familiar buzzing spreads through his body. He’s not sure when he drifts off, but he’s sure he was polite and waved the doctors goodbye or something like that.  
  
When he wakes up again, it’s because he can hear his mother’s voice. He’s still totally baked from the painkillers, and his mother starts to pat his hair when she sees that his eyes are open and he’s smiling so wide his cheekbones hurt. Another person in scrubs, maybe a voice therapist, is doing the talking now.  
  
“It’ll be great if he sticks to clear liquids and takes the medication for acid reflux even if he doesn’t have any because it’ll clear the way from any exposure to bacteria. For obvious reasons he should not sing, drink alcohol or smoke… ”  
  
Did he drift off again? Suddenly his mother’s gone, and he can hear different voices. He blinks his eyes a few times so his vision will clear and he sees…  
  
You. And he shoots out a pair of grabby hands until you’re smiling and moving in his direction, and you’re holding his hand in both of yours and Duckling’s on your lap and his head his resting on your thigh. He should probably wake up now, and you giggle and help him sit up. Taemin and Kibum are at the foot of the hospital bed, but their eyes and ears are on the physician talking.  
  
“If he wants to massage the vocal folds, it helps to sigh. He should do it very slowly and very carefully, up to six times a day to soothe that area a little. Regardless of the level of invasiveness of the surgery, there’s going to be lesions and bruising, so exercises like that can help. He should avoid stressful situations because it could bring even involuntary impulses to use his voice, and stress or anxiety could make him sleep talk. You should all take extra caution due to the nature of his job and how vital his vocal chords are to it, so he should only use his mouth to eat and drink and nothing else, at least for the first two weeks.”  
  
The doctor finally realises that Jinki’s awake and re-briefs him on everything that has gone on. It’s pretty straight forward, and the next two weeks are going to suck because he’s going to be at the mercy of a phone, a note pad and a pen for everything. Matching timing for anything is going to be really hard if his handwriting and typing have to keep up.  
  
His jokes are going to take a serious hit from this.  
  
The visitors are sent away when they’re assured that Jinki is already being processed for discharge, and once a nurse ensures that he can stand, walk and pee, he gets out of the patient robes and back into his shirt and jeans. And that’s that, he’s done.  
  
Jinki sleeps through most of the first day after the surgery. He goes home with his parents and they feed him clear soups, room temperature water and barley tea, or honey tea when he’s being a baby about the pain.  
  
The next few days are pretty difficult because Percocet makes him  _really_  clingy. It’s especially obvious to him on the fifth day, after he finally convinces his parents to let him go to yours for the night. It’s hard to play any of the hundred games on his iPad and phone because it’s impossible for him to concentrate, and he doesn’t want to fall asleep in the least because he really, really misses you and if he’s going to pass out, he wants to pass out with you.  
  
Then he remembers what the doctors had said, what his mother repeats three times before he leaves. _You should only open your mouth to eat or drink, and avoid anything that could provoke you into making any sounds at all costs._  
  
In other words, no kissing, and no sex. Which sucks particularly hard because all last night he could not stop thinking about how badly he wanted you to ride his face.  
  
So he’s a little sulky when you get home that night. That, and he’s been thinking about his future, and that train never really rides smoothly, so he just wants to relax and wind down, maybe he might convince you to get some hot sake and honey to drink. The ruckus that he hears after you walk through the door, though, tells him that your plans are very different.  
  
“I brought friends~!”  
  
Jinki doesn’t think that Taemin and Jonghyun actually count as friends, and he’s not particularly happy to see them when he steps out of the bedroom in sweatpants and the first t-shirt he could find. He only smiles when you walk over to greet him, wrapping your arms around his hips and pressing kisses to his cheek, the curve of his jaw and the base of his neck. After that, it’s hard not to be at least content as Jonghyun and Taemin set around samgyetang and green tea on the living room table.  
  
It’s also hard not to feel loved when all three of you take turns to feed Jinki, until eventually he sends a group text to remind you all that he is not disabled or an infant, and can feed himself. After food, though, he has to take another dose of all the meds, and once again he is hyper aware of the fact that his vocal chords are healing from some serious damage.  
  
That his vocal range might not be the same.  
  
That he may not be able to keep his job.  
  
That he might never sing like he used to.  
  
Queue the buzzing on his skin; his eyes are open but he can’t really focus on anything anymore and he’s smiling but not really because he’s happy. Every muscle in his body feels heavier and he feels ridiculously warm, which is probably why his throat doesn’t hurt anymore and why he’s so  _astoundingly_  jealous of the way Jonghyun touches you while he’s talking right now. It wouldn’t bother him otherwise, but he can’t help but feel a little depressed as he watches you two standing in the kitchen attempting to find some kind of dessert. You end up finding ice cream in the depths of your freezer, and you try to scoop some out for your guests but ultimately Jonghyun has to take your hand and help you do it.  
  
Under any other circumstance, Jinki wouldn’t mind. But he does, because he’s been listening when you talk and you’re really open with Taemin and Jonghyun, maybe even more so than you are with him. But it’s probably just a weird kind of separation anxiety, maybe he’s just insecure because he misses the way your eyes sparkle when he talks to you and he misses the way they warm up when you respond, and he’s scared that the unique connection between the two of you might break now that his voice is on hiatus.  
  
But then you turn to look at him and catch the dreaminess in his eyes, and smile so bright that he can’t help smiling back. It makes him forget whatever it was he was upset about by the time you come back and sit next to him.  
  
He still makes it a point to remind the rest of the company of the kind of relationship he has with you by wrapping his arms around you the moment you’re close enough, appropriating the rest of the sofa space (thereby pushing Taemin to the floor) after resting his head on your chest.  
  
You laugh when Jinki finally gets comfortable, but your arms welcome him and your hands start playing with his hair. He almost hums when you kiss the crown of his head but he catches himself in the nick of time and settles himself between your legs. He wants to get mad when you tell Taemin and Jonghyun that this is his favorite thing to do, lying on your chest (it is, he loves it here because your collarbones are within kissing reach and it’s so warm), but your voice sounds really comforting when it echoes inside you and it makes him really happy, and you’re looking down at him like he’s the only thing that matters the whole time. Then the three of you spend about five minutes talking about how cute he looks when he’s sleeping and it forces him to hide his face behind his hands because it’s really embarrassing and he can’t defend himself at all, and his neck gets really warm when his group mates start to tease him about it. All he hears for a little bit is ‘ _aigoo so cute_ ’ or ‘ _aigoo such a baby_ ’ and he almost, almost grunts to let them know he’s upset. 

But you shush them before he can get properly angry, and tighten your grip around him. Jonghyun makes an unnecessary comment about having to put some distance between both of you to avoid damage to the surgery, but you both shoot him venomous eyes and cuddle even closer together to spite him. It makes Taemin belch but Jonghyun is cackling, and when Jinki catches your eyes again his doubts about your affections go up in smoke, his eyes even burn a little when you start to play with his hair again because he’s just so mindblowingly happy and it kind of sucks not being able to tell you.   
  
Eventually he does fall asleep right there, because it’s hard not to breathe in deep and slow and let his eyes flutter shut with your hands caressing his hair so softly, and he settles his head so he can listen to your heartbeat and your voice and it’s so nice to hear that even if he can catch the hum of Taemin and Jonghyun’s voices, he thinks this is exactly what he wants to be doing right now.   
  
And it’ll be particularly hard for them to forget you’re his girlfriend when his head is so unreservedly cuddled between your boobs.

* * *

After that week, things get pretty rainy.  
  
Jinki’s been spending more time by himself because you’re in production and can’t see him as often, and he can’t stay in Gwangmyeong every night because he’s preparing for some meetings with the agency. His first doctor’s appointment is in a week and he’s pretty nervous, but he hasn’t made a single sound (to the best of his knowledge), and he’s been doing minimal vocal therapy and his throat doesn’t hurt so much anymore.  
  
Not talking is frustrating, though. He’s been staying at the dorms and he lives through text messages and messy notes, and it’s frustrating because his whole life works in double speed and he can’t keep up as well as he thought he could. The other members still have activities to go to and it blows to not be able to go with them, to be only a SHINee member in spirit. The fan letters he reads break his heart ten times over but he can’t cry, he has to stop himself because it might hurt the surgery.  
  
So he starts to withdraw. He keeps to his own, busies himself with puzzle games, monitors his group’s activities, sits with the staff to get a read on the general mood of things.  
  
On a particularly painstaking day, he comes to yours to spend the evening. He’s alone for most of the night, and after the clock hits midnight, he’s upset.  
  
 _How come you’re not home yet?  
  
It’s pretty late, you should come home.  
  
Where are you? I miss you.  
_  
You don’t come home until two in the morning. With Jonghyun and Key in tow. And visibly drunk. The two boys need only register the look on Jinki’s face to know that they have to leave immediately, but you’re really happy to see him, smiling as you walk to his side.  
  
Then your phone vibrates.  
  
 _Did you deliberately not check your phone?_  
  
“I… ” you won’t lie, you saw the text messages but you forgot to answer because Key is really fun and it’s easy to get wrapped up in conversation when he’s around, “I’m sorry.”  
  
Jinki considers his words carefully before he types them, and you’re worrying your lower lip between your teeth the entire time that you wait.  
  
 _Just tell me if you want to hang out with other people._  
  
“I want to hang out with you, Jinki,” you’re taking a seat because this is a real ass argument and you’re scared, “but I can’t spend all of my time with you.”  
  
 _I’m not asking for all of your time._  
  
“I know that, I never said you were,” it’s awkward that this is happening like this and you hate not hearing his voice especially right now, “I just… I can’t balance you and work and also have a social life, so I have to pick and choose and I can’t always choose you.”  
  
That was obviously the wrong thing to say.  
  
 _I’m sorry you feel that way._  
  
“No, that’s not what I mean, it’s just that—  ” Jinki’s getting up to leave and you want to cry but you hold his arm and he stops moving, “I just mean that you having had surgery takes its toll on me, too. It’s hard to spend time with you because I have to be careful and I don’t want to hurt you, you’re really fragile right now and there’s so much that’s hanging on your recovery— ”  
  
He’s pushed past you to get to the door, and you follow him until he stops to write you a message.  
  
 _Do you want to spend some time apart?_  
  
“Of course not, that is not at all what I want,” he appreciates the pain in your voice but he can’t react to you because he’s more scared of damaging his surgery, “but I do think it’s something to consider— ”  
  
And Jinki’s storming out.  
  
You should really start thinking before you talk. But you mean well, Jinki knows you mean well, so you hope he’s just in a sour mood and that you can revisit the subject in the morning.  
  
He doesn’t answer your text messages for exactly three weeks, and he’s not touring with the group but he’s busy with vocal therapy, SMTown stuff and recording for different variety shows. You try to reach him through Taemin but it doesn’t work, mostly because Taemin’s recording his solo debut and barely has time to take care of himself, let alone other people. You even try sending Jinki pictures of Duckling in gloomy and mundane spots of your apartment, but it doesn’t work at all.  
  
You only hear from him when the summer starts to heat up the streets of Seoul.  
  
 _It’s been busy. Let’s talk soon.  
_  
It makes you angry at first, because it sounds like he’s talking to a business associate and not his girlfriend, so you don’t answer immediately. You’re busy, too, after all; summer is always busy for Sketchbook because it’s when the hottest idols all come back. This and Christmas are the most fun, in your opinion, and you’re especially looking forward to seeing Taemin as a solo artist on the schedule. After two hours, though, you’re agonising because Jinki is probably out of complete voice rest and you miss his voice more than you can say and if you don’t see him by next week you’re going to lose your mind.  
  
You tell Jonghyun all of this and a lot more when he lends you an ear that very night. You’ve been having dinner together a lot lately, because he goes off to MBC just as you get out of KBS and there’s often a chance to meet halfway for a quick bite and a drink.  
  
“He’s not trying to be difficult,” Jonghyun defends, but you shoot him a deadpan look and he laughs, “okay, he’s not trying to be  _too_  difficult. But things actually are really busy.”  
  
“I see you like three times a week!”  
  
“Yeah, but I’m not an idol group leader,” Jonghyun reasons and you hate it but he’s right, “I also don’t have to go to vocal lessons, nor do I have to go to therapy, nor do I have to hide from the press because everyone thinks I smoked my way into getting vocal polyps.”  
  
“We’re quitting!”  
  
“I know you’re quitting,” Jonghyun is laughing again, “but the press is the press. He gets worked up about this stuff and he’s worried about keeping his instrument in top shape. I get it. And I already told you, he misses you, too.”  
  
“I don’t believe you.” Your pout is cute and misleading.  
  
“Fine. Then break up with him.”  
  
The pause that tears through the conversation just then makes Jonghyun’s heart leap. Where did that come from? Why is his heart beating so fast? All of a sudden he’s really thinking about it, about you and Jinki breaking up, about the possibility of seeing you even more often, of having to comfort you—    
  
But, no, no. Jinki loves you a lot, he’s never seen the elder so in love, ever. You love him, too, it’s obvious to everyone that you’re crazy about Jinki and vice versa. 

“Maybe that’s what he wants. He wants me to break up with him,” your eyes are wide and disbelieving, your body stiff. It makes Jonghyun laugh, because you’re always really cute and it amazes him.  
  
“I assure you that is  _not_  what he wants.”  
  
“Then  _why_ ,” you’re pouting again, “why doesn’t he want to meet up already?”  
  
“You guys had a really lucky strike at the beginning, but it’s business as usual now. There are eyes on us at every turn and SM is working the fuck out of SHINee, so our schedules are packed and our lives are a mess again. If I were you, I’d be more worried about Taemin.”  
  
“I am,” your voice is still eristic, “but I see him whenever I can. I was even going to go to LA with him, but things got complicated.”  
  
“So, wait it out.”  
  
“But I’m tired of waiting!”  
  
“Wait it out. If he says you’ll talk soon, then you’ll talk soon.”

* * *

You’re still sulking when you walk up to your place that night, and not just because it’s 3AM and your head hurts from having your eyes glued to monitors for the past five hours. So your eyes are barely open as you walk through the doors of your dark apartment, and the familiar scent of the living room serves as a small comfort to you.  
  
After kicking off your shoes, you decide to blow off showering till later because you really want a nap, and you head towards your bedroom with your skirt around your ankles and your bra in your hands. There’s no one around to keep this house clean for, anyway, which is why your bed is a heap of bedsheets, so you leave both garments on the ground and stop at your vanity, minutely considering if you should take your makeup off before falling asleep.  
  
Duckling’s judging you from the vanity table.  _You should clean your face_ , he’s saying.  _You should take care of your skin, ulzzang PD. Worrying so much can ruin your complexion._  
  
“There has got to be something seriously wrong with me,” you tell the stuffed animal as you sit in front of the mirror. “And him! What if I went and started seeing other people because he disappeared?” you scoff and grab a face cleansing tissue and start dabbing at your cheeks, and you don’t wear much makeup to work so you’re dirt-free pretty quickly.  
  
“What if he started seeing other people?” you face plant on the table because it’s possible, he could have fallen in love with any of the pretty idols he works with, it could happen in seconds. You know because it happened to you. “But he wouldn’t, right? He can’t just go and,” you turn your head to look at the stuffed animal and pass air through your lips to mimic a ‘ _poof_ ’-like sound, your hands waving in the space in front of you for the full effect, “and start seeing other women. Right, Duckling?”  
  
“At least now you know how I felt.”  
  
You fall off the chair from fright, turning around with a face wipe in your hand as a makeshift weapon. But the moment you see Jinki peeking out from under your bed sheets, you gasp and point an accusing finger at him. “You— Your hair got dark!”  
  
“Yes, it does that sometimes.”  
  
Damn, he looks so good, he sounds so good, you can’t tell if his voice sounds any different but it’s so nice to hear it that you can’t help leaping to the bed to sit in front of him.  
  
“You’re talking!”  
  
“It cuts out every now and then,” and it does just then, “but I’m on restricted voice rest now.”  
  
“Then stop talking!”  
  
You’re so cute right now, it really hurts and melts his heart at the same time. “I’m sorry about being a little too demanding and immature before—  “  
  
Restricted voice rest sounds super restrictive and all, but you can’t not kiss him when he’s right in front of you. Your Jinki withdrawal has been pretty horrible, you should at least do this much before anything else happens, and you guess it’s okay because he chortles and kisses you back when his hands land on your back.  
  
“I’m the one who’s sorry for being insensitive and a little frigid. I’ve been working on the whole telling people how I really feel thing and I’m doing much better now,” you pause to hold his face in your hands and you love that he looks so much more like himself now. He holds your hands in his own and it makes you smile and there are more words flooding out of your mouth already. “I missed you so much I thought I was going to go batshit, I swear,” and you look like you’ve already gone batshit, but that’s probably just the time and your tired eyes, “you didn’t have to scare me like that, but it’s okay because I’m in love with you and I’m so happy to see you. I missed you so much, did you know that? Did I tell you I love you yet? I love you.”  
  
“I love you, too,” he’s still fumbling about your hands and you feel something weird on the left one but you’re not done talking and your limbs are kind of numb anyway because he’s smiling and you’re so happy and you suddenly have so much energy right now, wow.  
  
“I love you more, seriously. So, let’s not separate like that again, okay? And no more scaring me out of my wits,” your eyes are watering a bit and you’re even shaking and he’s a little worried when you hug him and clutch at his shirt like you haven’t seen him in years.  
  
“Darling, a-are you okay?” he pats your back and smiles because he gets it, the feeling of being overly giddy because you haven’t seen each other in a while, but he’s really hoping you’re not doubting his feelings for you or anything. “I’m sorry I couldn’t come earlier, things just got crazy now that I can use my voice a little,” his eyes widen when you sniffle. “Babe?”

“I am, I’m okay, I’m sorry,” you release him and it hurts a little when you’re not touching him anymore, and you didn’t realise your withdrawal was this bad. “I drank like seven cups of coffee to stay alive today, and my brain is still kind of a mess, and… you look  _so_  good with darker hair.” It’s the first time you see it in the flesh and it’s very, very nice.  
  
“Better than with the Drew Boley hair?”  
  
You actually stop to think about it, but you decide to withhold your answer. Instead, you push Jinki back onto the bed and swing a leg over his body so you can straddle him.  
  
And then you catch the glint of the ring now on your left hand, and you gasp and turn to look at him with eyes the size of golf balls. Before he can ask you if it’s too soon, before he can explain that your 200th day is just around the corner and that he couldn’t not buy the rose gold band after seeing it, your lips are on his like you already know.  
  
There are about a thousand things he wants to tell you right now, but he decides that you both have all the time in the world to get to each and every one of them.  
  
“When you say ‘ _restricted_ ’ voice rest,” you pull back to look into his eyes again, and you’re momentarily distracted by his hair because you’re already in love with it. He catches your drift immediately, though, and his hands are dancing up the backs of your thighs and under your shirt. “It means that you can use your voice  _minimally_ , right?”  
  
“Correct,” you cover his mouth with your hands to silence him before he can add anything else.  
  
“So, if we were to engage in  _minimal_  noise making… ” you’re laughing and Jinki’s laughing, too, and he probably shouldn’t but this is too priceless not to, “it wouldn’t be a problem, right?”  
  
He shakes his head, and he’s still chuckling when your hand slips from over his mouth and he leans up till your noses are touching. 

”God, I love you.”

  
  
> _[y](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DRp4_YoOzYeQ&t=MmNhM2FkNzBkODhhYzIyYzI1MThhZmFiNmUyOTUyNzQ4YjExNjczYixSVWZTQjN0SQ%3D%3D&b=t%3AcXtpvFymmD9Dd4fNv0MUqQ&p=https%3A%2F%2Fhitchhikingbabeh.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F142450416648%2Fcafun%25C3%25A9-m&m=1)ou’ve gone back to who you were before you met me, already, already_  
  
Jonghyun’s on break more often when the end of the year ceremonies start, because his schedule is a little more sporadic. He actually has time to go out and have lunch now, though he mostly prefers to go home and have something that his mother made instead.  
  
But he woke up restless, just before daybreak, and he can’t stop thinking that something’s up. Something to do with you.  
  
So the moment the time is prudent, he’s in his car and rushing to your apartment building. It takes a while because you’re a good distance from his neighbourhood, and after weeding through Seoul traffic, he’s finally pulling over out front. He doesn’t do an excellent job of parking and he prays it doesn’t land him a ticket, and he runs into the building hoping that this sour feeling is just that.  
  
It’s not.  
  
He sees your landlady beyond the open doors of your apartment when he stands at your doorstep, and the older woman comes over to him with mild surprise on her soft, wrinkled features.  
  
“Can I help you?”  
  
“Um, sure,” Jonghyun’s nervous, but it doesn’t look like the lady knows who he is, “did the owner of this unit move out?”  
  
“No, dear,” the lady laughs, “she’s just leased it out for rent temporarily. Are you friends?”  
  
“Yes,” Jonghyun answers immediately, “it’s been hard to keep in touch because she’s so busy, so I thought I might come over.”  
  
“That’s such a pity!” she’s very chatty and it annoys Jonghyun a little, “She left for the airport just a moment ago— ”  
  
“The airport?”  
  
“Yes, I believe she said she’s moving to America for some time, so she put up the apartment for rent. We’re still looking for tenants but these units usually go pretty fast. She’ll do well abroad, too, she’s so kind and pretty. Her boyfriend is also really good-looking. Do you know if they left together?”  
  
The lady keeps talking but Jonghyun’s brain is reeling. What should he do? He can’t drive to the airport right now. Traffic would be brutal and he has to be at KBS in an hour for some recordings. Not only that, he’s live on Blue Night and he hasn’t met with the producers to talk about this week’s guests and you’re—  you’re leaving?  
  
 _You’re leaving.  
_  
An echo of Jinki’s words comes over him like a storm. Is this what will make you happy? Is Jonghyun even sure of what you mean to him anymore?  
  
Something good. You’re something good, something really good. Someone that radiates with warmth, that balances out any room with the kind of serenity people go to seashores to find. But you’re also someone who gives and never takes because it ties you down, someone who chooses their words carefully and only ever says what they mean. Someone who forgets big and little things, but always remembers what’s important. Someone who protects themselves when they have no one else to protect, someone who will do anything to keep themselves shielded when there are nothing but daggers within their sight.  
  
Someone who lets fate decide when they don’t want to get hurt. Someone who deserves to be happy.

* * *

Jinki is on break from vocal therapy when his phone vibrates in his pocket, and he excuses himself for a minute to check it. It’s a busy time and he can’t miss one phone call because their schedules are packed and erratic and changing every five minutes.

But this is a text message.  
  
 _ICN - LAX: 6PM  
_  
“I need to go.”

* * *

Incheon International Airport is one of the most relaxing places in all of South Korea. Mostly because the notion of flying has always been comforting to you. By flying, though, you should really say running away.  
  
You’re running away again.  
  
It isn’t all bad, it never is when you do this, the escaping sticky situations thing. You got an offer to work for a small production company in LA that films music videos all over America and Asia, and though the pay isn’t the same as what you had at KBS, it’s good. And in American dollars.  
  
You’re all checked in because you’re only travelling with one suitcase for now. The rest are in storage in Seoul because you don’t have time to sell all your stuff now, and you know you’ll come back eventually. When doesn’t matter, because you know yourself really well and you know you’ll be avoiding these sights for a while.  
  
So you’re taking your sweet time. It’s just after lunch and the airport is only mildly busy, and your walk to security is closer to a stroll. You let yourself get distracted by the coffee shop chains you won’t see for a while, the posters of idols you won’t see unless you check celebrity news sources, the alphabet you’ll see only when you cruise about Koreatown and a few other neighbourhoods in California.  
  
You’re already looking forward to the nostalgia.  
  
Truthfully, you didn’t expect to feel this okay. You did cry the whole way to the airport, though, cried when you gave your car a temporary goodbye and watched it go off with a friend of yours behind the wheel who paid a pretty price to rent it for a few months.  
  
Now, though, you’re okay. You’re in denial. You’re convinced that your troubles are going to go up in smoke when you board that plane, and that’s okay. It’s okay because it’ll be temporary, and when it finally dawns on you that you’re leaving so much behind, it’ll already be too late.  
  
And that’s the way it should be. You’ve never regretted shaking your own world up a bit, anyway. You’ll be fine. Or you won’t be. That’s fine, too.  
  
Why are you crying again?  
  
You just  _had_  to look up to the flight status boards, and your eyes just had to land on the flights out to the Maldives and it just set you off. It’s got to look pretty embarrassing, the way you’ve tucked yourself into a corner table in the Paris Baguette in the main concourse to calm your heaving/crying situation. But here’s the thing: you hate lying to yourself. You’re pretty good at it, but it feels really shitty. Especially since you’re trying to convince yourself of some pretty bad lies right now.  
  
Like the one about you leaving because you wanted to pursue a new branch of your field. Or the one about going to America and not somewhere closer because it’ll get you out of your comfort zone. Or the one about leaving today because it’s an appropriate date to kick off a new adventure.  
  
Or the one about you not wanting to fight for what you feel, not wanting to fight for what you love. Who you love.  
  
Because only kids do that. Only the reckless go that far, right?  
  
Who are you trying to fool? You’re the only person you know that’s capable of chasing themselves out of making a decision that would end up with someone getting hurt, because you’re a coward and can’t bear to admit to yourself that you want what you want.  
  
You’re lucky that fate favors you so much. You’re lucky that every time you run away from a choice, something brings you back to firm ground, forces you to say what you feel and what you mean because the universe knows it’s the right thing.  
  
In fact, it’s weird nothing has happened yet, that nothing has thwarted your great efforts to hurt yourself beyond belief. Usually something happens by now, usually something that sucks real hard and forces you to jump to action…  
  
Did someone just slide something into your table? A pity coffee? Dessert?  
  
You don’t look up because you’re outright ugly sobbing, and you hide your face in your hands because you know that nothing could possibly calm you down right now. They can try back in like, ten minutes. After a bit though, you think whatever’s on your table doesn’t look like a coffee cup and you’re getting kind of curious, so you stop wheezing and pat at your eyes with the sleeves of your sweater because it’ll help you see better—  
  
It’s Duckling.  
  
“Were you just going to abandon him, after everything we’ve been through?”  
  
You look up properly, and you don’t call out to the brown haired young man in front of you. Mostly because you’re starting to sob again. Jinki’s face is covered by a hat and some sunglasses but you can hear him laughing, and he laughs a little harder when he pulls you to stand and wraps his arms around you. You hold him instantly, crying harder because you’re relieved, because this boy knows you better than you ever gave him credit for.  
  
Because you would have hated yourself for a long time if you’d left him behind.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Jinki breathes in your ear, and it helps your crying soften, “I’m so sorry, please don’t run, you said you wouldn’t run. I’m so sorry. I love you so,  _so_  much, so don’t run, okay?”  
  
You just thought it was the right thing to do, and your whimpering tells him as much. You just didn’t want to hurt anyone.  
  
But you can’t help your heart, you can’t help the way you wrap your hands around his shoulders and press a kiss to his jaw.  
  
“I love you,” you’ve stopped crying entirely now, you’re tired of lying to him and to yourself, lying to Jonghyun because you wanted his friendship but you also wanted to take away his greed. “I know that we both fucked up and I know that I hurt you just as bad as you hurt me and I wish I could let you go, too, but I don’t want to because I miss you and I love you so fucking much and I want you back, too.”  
  
You can work through this. You’ve both made some really big messes, but you can work this out. You’re going to talk to Jonghyun, you’re going to tell him how you feel and hope that it’s enough, hope that he’ll still appreciate you as a friend because you think that deep down it’s what he always saw in you, that the lust you felt was just that. You’ll tell Jonghyun what you want, that you’ll go after it even though you know it won’t be easy.  
  
Nothing that’s good is ever easy.  
  
You sniffle and pull out Jinki’s sunglasses because you need to look him in the eyes and you need to kiss him because you’ve been missing him since you left the apartment that late summer night, because you’re just as in love with him as you were when he sprayed champagne all over your face and kissed you at that rooftop deck. He hums against you to let you know he feels the same way, that he’s always felt the same way, and his hands caress the small of your back though he needs you to keep in mind that you’re at a very public place and he’s a huge public figure. So you pull back and hold his face in your hands, because you need to do something really, really important right now. You gulp and he blinks, panicking a little and hoping you won’t still want to leave.  
  
“Are you mine?”  
  
You don’t expect him to smile that big, you haven’t seen this smile in so long that it makes you smile, too, because he’s all teeth, all sunshine.  
  
“Always.”  
  
And all yours.

* * *

_Unbelievable_. This is so fucking unbelievable Jonghyun doesn’t stop himself from laughing, and he now knows that one just can’t fuck with the world order.

Jinki had time to leave the SM building in Gangnam, stop by your apartment to look for the little duck plushy,  _find_  the little duck plushy, go through the insufferable traffic of Seoul to get to Incheon and he  _still_  had time to conceal himself and go through the entire main concourse to find you in the farthest corner of that cafe.  
  
Jonghyun only just got here and he’s still panting, and he’d been a lot closer than Jinki. He must have made some bad turns here and there, and he forgot to cover up his face, so fifteen people have already asked him for an autograph or a picture.  
  
And then he spots the pair of uncanny chicken legs attached to the extremely recognisable ass of Mr Lee Taemin, who is currently walking over to join the reunion. Jonghyun laughs harder. Jinki must’ve rushed over in a cab (or five) to avoid parking (which Jonghyun did not think of, either). Taemin must be their ride back.  
  
Jinki even had time to arrange a  _getaway ride_. Ridiculous.  
  
Five more people crowd around him now, and most of the few customers inside the Paris Baguette are looking over to find out what the fuss is about. At least it takes all eyes away from you. All eyes but his.  
  
It must just be destiny.  
  
He can see it when you smile at Jinki, when you both start to pat your face dry. He can see when you kiss him, and it doesn’t hurt. He still feels like this is right, you’re supposed to be looking at Jinki like that, you’re supposed to cry and wrap your arms around both Jinki and Taemin like you are right now. He’s not even surprised when Jinki brings out a long red envelope and pulls out two plane tickets and you kiss him again because, lo and behold…  
  
He hadn’t checked the date or time in ages, but it’s  _January first._  
  
Fucking amazing.  
  
Jonghyun must have not given any of this as much thought as he should have, because he doesn’t know why he feels so content, like the balance is restored, like the spring is blooming already though it’s still the peak of winter.  
  
He’s okay, already.  
  
You’re okay, already.  
  
It’s okay, already.  
  
 _Already._  
  
It sounds like a good name for a song.


	6. Remontant

_>[i](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fyoutu.be%2FNETlp7eo-oI&t=YzY3NzNjMTA0ZWJkMTU0NTQwZjgxMjc3YzYxM2Q0MzM3M2E2Mjc0OSwyMWY3RTJTMA%3D%3D&b=t%3AcXtpvFymmD9Dd4fNv0MUqQ&p=https%3A%2F%2Fhitchhikingbabeh.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F146926470053%2Fremontant-t&m=1)t’s yours, all yours_ **  
**

Jetlag sucks major ballsack.

No number of flights and delays and layovers will ever help Jinki adjust to the inexplicably annoying unsteadiness, the feeling of walking on unstable ground or the watery light-headedness that comes with every trip that’s over six hours long.

And while getting out of Malé was a breeze, those thirteen hours to get home from Sri Lanka just about killed him.

Which is why he’s pretty much a limping zombie behind you as you make your way back to your apartment, why it takes every functioning neuron left in his brain (and there aren’t that many) to drag his feet around to set the luggage down, chug a litre of water, and faceplant on your bed.

You know he’s passed out just moments after his face lands on the duvet, and you can only giggle.

What a week.

* * *

It feels like a dream now, a blissful dream of six days (counting the time it took to get there and come back) filled with white dresses and linen shirts, and red lipstick and white wine and the embarrassing number of soju bottles you sneaked into the country via your luggage. The first day after landing is mostly occupied with sleep (though you mostly just watch him), sleep and pillow talk and more sleep and more pillow talk; you couldn’t remember the last time you’d had such a long conversation with Jinki, not even before he had surgery. 

And it took absolutely no time for you to remember why you fell in love with him all those years ago.

After that, Jinki is adamant about making sure everything about the trip is about you, sometimes about you and him but nearly always about you; about reminding you that you will always be treasured, respected… loved. Not only by him, but mostly by him.

You’re more grateful than you will ever be able to say with words, but you say them anyway; it’s easy to say what you want and what you mean when the only reason why you’d be afraid to do so is thousands of miles away. It gets easy to forget after the first night, easier to give in to Jinki’s spontaneity, give in to the lingering touches to your lower back and the kisses to your clavicle and the hot palms on your hips, it’s so easy to remember him, so easy for him to convince you to forget everything else.

Jinki doesn’t beg for your forgiveness. He asks. And he doesn’t ask for all of it outright, because he still doesn’t think he has the right to. So, like everything he does, he goes about it in the most irrevocably Jinki manner possible. On day two, he goes off to a paperie in the depths of Malé (his excuse is that he wants to go on a lone, non-touristy stroll), and by lunch he’s back with a leaflet of… custom-made coupons.

_Wishes Only Lee Jinki Can Grant_ , reads the title.

“You’ve seen Reply 1997 way too many times.”

“Shut up, we love Seo Inguk.”

And you do, you both do, and you end up re-watching some of the series that afternoon because it’s way too hot out and you can’t be bothered to do anything besides split a bottle of Chardonnay and lie in bed. 

The wounds are still healing, and though you think this kind of thing should hurt, it doesn’t. You don’t thank him for his gift but you are grateful for its intention, and it’s really all he wants. He doesn’t encourage you to use them; in fact, it’s like he forgets about their existence after he slips them into your hand.

So you bring out the first one later on that evening, while you’re setting down towels on the pearly white sand to watch the sunset.

_tell me I’m beautiful_ , it says, with a tiny note at the bottom that reads: 

_expiry date: two days._

You hand it to Jinki and he smiles, echoes the words on the paper and gives the slip back to you.

Only then do you realise the laminated paper actually peels off.

_bet that wasn’t really what you wanted to hear._

It’s his handwriting on the back and your eyes are starting to water.

_i think you’re prettier than Song Hyekyo._

“High praise,” you comment, looking up to find the apples of his cheeks tinted pink. 

“I mean it,” he responds, and takes your hand a little nervously because he hates to think that you’re sitting here being reminded of other sunsets you’ve seen with other people, hates to think that it’s the reason why you’ve brought out that first slip.

“You’re the most beautiful person I have ever known,” and he does mean it, the even, wholly sincere tone of his voice says it all, but you don’t feel like you’re ready to be touched by these words yet.

“What about your mother?”

He laughs and kisses your knuckles, lips lingering on the rose gold ring still glittering there, and then he lets the moment drift.

Finding alcohol at a good price anywhere in the Maldives is next to impossible, and drinking in public involves going outside to the humid heat, so that night you get back to your hotel room and teach Jinki the wonderful disaster that is playing  _Kings Cup_  with soju shots, overpriced Kahlúa, and a handle of Belvedere that you forgot you sneaked into your luggage. 

It’s at the second round of  _Truth or Dare_  that things get dangerously real, even despite your peaking blood alcohol levels.

“I dare you to let me in,” he says, and his voice is thick though not with liquor, “just until this game is over, please open up to me.”

And you want to, you do, but instead you bring out another perforated slip and hand it to him.

_let’s not argue._

And he marks the expiry date as the day you return to Seoul. 

His expression dulls and he exhales deeply through his nose, but he nods anyway, hands you back the slip for you to peel.

_I won’t argue, if you really don’t want me to_ , you can almost read the smile that sat on his lips while he wrote this. _I hate it when you frown, and I’d hate to be the reason why you ever frown again._

But then you draw a card that puts you in the hotseat, and you almost cry when Jinki tells you he can’t think of anything to ask you that he doesn’t already know the answer to. Except maybe…

“Am I still saved as ‘ _Duckling_ ’ on your phone?”

You take the shot of soju that absolves you from having to answer, and Jinki can’t even feel discouraged, he can only smile that smile that breaks your heart before he reaches out to draw his own card.

He can wait. It’s always been worth it in the past.

Eventually it’s too hard to think at all, it’s too hard to say anything and the hotel room is suddenly really warm and you want to sleep. But you pull yourself up to take a shower and brush your teeth instead.

When you step back into the bedroom, Jinki is entirely passed out on the bed, and you don’t try to stop yourself from smiling as you make your way over to the empty space beside him. Even after mixing three different liquors heavily, after eating junk food courtesy of room service and making all sorts of faces thanks to the embarrassingly hilarious moments that  _Kings_  brought, he still looks disarmingly adorable while he sleeps. 

And for the first time in months, you fall asleep without pills, without anxiety picking at your brain, without that hollow pain in your chest, and you know you did the right thing. Maybe not at the right time, but this… this is where you’re meant to be.

By the time morning comes, you’re both a mess of limbs and warmth. You feel like this is the first time you wake up to the sight of Lee Jinki with bedsheets over his head, the first time you feel his arms encased around your waist despite his mummy-like position. When you try to move, you feel his arms tighten to pull you closer. 

Then he hears you sniffle, and he wonders if it’s because you’re happy or relieved or both, but he pokes his head out of the linens and presses a kiss to the spot just below your ear, anyway, because he needs you to know that he couldn’t be happier than he is right now.

He knows you’re holding back, he knows you know you’re holding back, trying to protect yourself. Jinki makes it so you face him, and you’re biting on your lower lip and reaching out to touch his cheek as your eyes trace the line of his jaw up to his eyes.

“I’ll be better.”

You don’t know it’s exactly what you want to hear until you hear it. Never mind apologies or displays of admiration and affection…

“I promise.”

This is all you want, and it’s why everything that happens after that is a blur of nimble fingers on shy skin and butterfly kisses, of sandy clothes and piggyback rides on the shoreline, of late night and early morning swimming, of more tangled up limbs and lipstick smudges on his clothes and yours, too. Because you want to be better, too, not just for him but for every aspect of your life. You want to be better. And it’s like a perfect mirage, all of this. 

A beautiful whim, almost a dream that you’re not quite ready to wake up from yet.

But you must.

* * *

Ten hours of near perfect sleep and you suddenly become painfully aware of Jinki’s breathing tunneling down the nape of your neck. It’s more familiar than ever now, lying on your side next to him, the way he knots his fingers around your waist though he usually likes to use your body as a pillow.

Your little vacation gave him some new bad habits, it seems.

You slowly become aware of everything, of the extremely cold air gusting in from your open window (since it is still very much winter in Seoul, unlike it was in Malé), of the frigid, white lights streaming in from the streets, the way they hit your vanity and act as a huge beacon to the golden baby duck sitting almost proudly between your makeup bag and Jinki’s sunglasses.

It’s the first time you’ve both slept in this bed together, and right now, it’s like nothing at all has changed. It’s comforting when you realise that everything has changed, that the person sharing the warmth under the covers with you is someone you know but still don’t know completely because you’ve still got so many more suns and moons to see with him, someone you love in ways that are inexplicable, that everything in this moment is just so… 

Right.

You hear Jinki mumble just then, gibberish that sounds oddly like your name, and you let out a small hum in response.

“You’re so warm,” he groans, huddling closer to you, tightening his hold on you a smidgen.

You hum again, because yes, it is really warm right now and you’d rather not move or speak at all just yet.

“And I’m so hungry.”

You snicker, even feeling a bit guilty because he’s only as tired as he is right now because of you. You’d promised to let him sleep through most of the flight from Sri Lanka to Incheon, but you ended up talking through the first six hours before you totally passed out on him (nearly completely on top of him) for the remaining seven. When you land, you make it a point to scold him. You tell him he should have told you to move or to accommodate yourself differently so he could sleep in the bizarre few positions he can rest in when he’s on any moving vehicle.

But he confesses that he didn’t have the heart to, and you’re too scared to ask him why. So you leave it at that and promise you’ll make it up to him somehow.

You’re assuming this is that somehow.

“Should I get food?” you’d cook, but you’re too tired to assemble or prepare anything. “And we can catch tonight’s episode of the show, too?”

“No~” he makes it so you’re facing him and buries his head in the crook of your neck, “stay.” 

It’s still embarrassing when he watches his new drama with you. He can only go through episode monitoring with his mother because, well, it’s his mother. She isn’t watching her boyfriend crying his eyes out on camera and having husband and new father troubles and it just makes him feel really wriggly inside when he watches it with you.

“I’ll get chicken and beer.”

It’s been years since you first met this man and there is no way this line will ever not work. He opens his eyes and stares holes into yours until you’re forced to open them, too, and the sheer look on them makes you burst out laughing.

You didn’t even know his eyes could go so wide or shine this bright under such poor lighting.

“You don’t mind? We can order in.”

“I’m the reason why you couldn’t sleep at all, so naturally I don’t. It’s not far, anyway, and I kind of want to stretch,” you’re not even tired, you’re mostly just sore from the poor combination of avid activity and absolute inactivity.

“You really don’t mind?”

“No, Jinki.”

“Really?”

God, he never changes.

“Really.”

“Really?”

You can’t help giggling, you can’t ever help giggling when he does that and he knows. “Stop doing that—”

“I love you.”

All this time and you’re still not used to hearing these words, hearing the sincerity and the heaviness in his voice. You still can’t get used to how he touches you whenever he says it, always somewhere he’ll know you’ll feel it. Sometimes it’s the nape of your neck, the shell of your ears, or he’ll touch his nose to yours or press his lips against your knuckles. 

Right now, his hand rests just under your jaw. But he won’t pull you any closer; he’s still treading so very carefully because he doesn’t want to rush this, or anything, anymore.

“I’ll be better.”

He doesn’t need you to respond, it’s enough when you stretch your arms out to hug him, when you kiss his cheek and the corner of his mouth; he’s not even mad when he hears your phone ding loudly to interrupt you.

Jinki watches as you get up to snatch the device, though you shoot him an apologetic glance before its screen casts silvery light on your face.

This trip did you both so much good. Your cheeks are fuller again, and so are his, your eyes are vibrant again, nearly sparkling, and so are his. He wants to tell you he loves you just one more time; it’s become almost an impulse to tell you as often as he feels it since you got on that plane, because he’s still scared you don’t believe him. 

The biggest obstacle this relationship has ever faced starts now, here in Seoul. Where his career is, where yours is blossoming, where Taemin is a text message away, where Jonghyun is even closer…

You tap around your phone to check your messages, and the thread that opens up is the one you’ve been fearing for weeks now.

_Come downstairs._

Your hands are shaking but the rest of your body has frozen, and you hear Jinki laugh so you turn to find him nearly beaming. Clueless. Convinced that because you and him are okay, everything else will just fall back to its place.

“Ulzzang PD-nim,” he sings, “they aren’t calling you back to work already, are they? I thought tomorrow was your last vacation day.”

“It is,” you fake a laugh and pocket your phone, you hate lying to Jinki and you promise yourself never to do it after tonight, “one of the assistants was just checking in to see that I landed okay.”

Technically not a lie, the new maknae PD did text you while you were asleep, but you don’t feel any better. 

His smile warms up and you try to look as okay as you can though every nerve in your body is on edge. And then his eyebrows furrow and his lips jut out and he looks like Duckling now more than ever and you’re so, so torn. 

“I suddenly feel bad, making you go out alone,” he starts, “should I come with you? I can cover up with a hoodie or something— ”

“It’s okay,” and you smile and forget, you forget Jonghyun for five seconds because he’s adorable, Jinki’s smile is so dazzling and real and so damn bright that you don’t want to look away, you hate looking away because you’re scared it’ll be the last you’ll ever see of him.

“Maybe I can go grab the beer from the store down the street and you can get the chicken. It’ll be time and cost efficient.”

He knows you’re convinced because your smile is turning guilty and you’re leaning over to kiss him full on the lips and he’s only too glad to kiss you back.

“Fine, let’s do it your way,” you relent, “regular or seasoned for your loony palate?”

“Both.”

“Greedy,” you comment, and he pouts and you laugh and kiss him again.

“Korean beer?”

“If they have any German pils that’s two seconds from frozen, take it,” you wink and he laughs because you’re so damn cute it might kill him one day. Somewhere in a corner of his mind he thinks that you should both get sommelier certification somewhere, and Jinki almost swoons at the idea of spending a few weekends at the end of the year with you and going somewhere nice, like Patagonia or Forges or Champagne and Tuscany, too…

“What are you daydreaming about?”

“You.”

Uninhibited laughter flows past your lips and he’s at the verge of swooning again, and he’s effectively knocked out when you lean in to kiss him one last time.

“I’ll head out first, okay? The store’s pretty close so you don’t have to leave right away.”

Your phone buzzes again as you make your way out of the bedroom, and you only check out of reflex.

_I’ll wait._

_“_ Jagiya.”

“Hm?”

“I’ll be better.”

“Me, too.” 

“I love you.”

Every time he says it, it’s louder, clearer, but never any less real, and it’s why you have to turn around to meet his eyes with a smile. 

“I love you more.” 

You have never meant it more in your life.

 

_>[e](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DECMc1SB60E0&t=Y2U3MGEzMTM5OTZmZjU3ODA4MjEwNTA3OWUzY2EzOTVmYjA4ODIyMiwyMWY3RTJTMA%3D%3D&b=t%3AcXtpvFymmD9Dd4fNv0MUqQ&p=https%3A%2F%2Fhitchhikingbabeh.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F146926470053%2Fremontant-t&m=1)ven if I come across that moment again, it won’t be the same as now_

He isn’t kidding about being downstairs and willing to wait. The sunglasses and mask covering his face don’t do enough of a good job to really conceal him, which is probably why Jonghyun is fidgeting extra nervously in the small veranda directly outside your apartment building, though it’s pretty late and the middle of the week and people rarely stroll around here.

It’s also cold as fuck, not only because it’s March and technically still winter but because he could not be any more nervous, any more afraid than he is right now.

He hasn’t shivered so much from something internal since his solo debut.

Jonghyun starts to pace as the minutes draw in and he still can’t see any movement from your lobby, and the same flood of thoughts that have been plaguing him since he found out you were back comes crashing in.

_You’re happier with Jinki. And that should be okay._

_Jinki’s happier with you. And that should be enough._

You probably don’t want him coming around, not ever. Not now that things are back to normal, that the madness that consumed him and you has evaporated completely. 

But he can’t believe that, not completely. Whatever he wants to know he wants to find out from your mouth, or from Jinki’s, but mostly from yours, not from the poisonous voices in his head or the encouraging ones, either.

On the other side of the building, you’re nearly half frozen when you step a foot outside, mostly stricken with fear and nerves the likes of which you haven’t felt in ages.

But this needs to happen, you need to feel okay again and this is the last corner of the puzzle to put together to get there.

He looks good, even from this distance. Hydrogen peroxide and him have always had a dangerous magnetism and you’re a little surprised to see that his hair is honey brown, but you’re glad anyway because he looks healthier, rosier, more alive.

It looks like he benefited from the breather that came with the first week of March, too, so you feel a little lighter as you approach him.

And your breath catches when he finds your eyes.

“Hi.”

Maybe it’s that he hasn’t seen you for quite some time but you are so unfairly radiant, you’re always glowing and it makes him so unbelievably sad.

“W-welcome back,” he says weakly, and you find it in you to laugh. His eyes widen when you stretch out your hand in his direction, and he takes off his sunglasses and claps them to the neckline of his pullover before taking it in his own.

You lead him toward a darker corner of the veranda, one with an empty line of wooden benches that offer slight respite from the windy winter and a huddly corner for at least the idea of warmth.

“I shouldn’t have called you out, right? You were about to say that, weren’t you?”

But you shake your head. You don’t meet his eyes, but the way you smile tells him you’re not mad at him at all, not even for making you sit out here in the cold.

You tell yourself that this needs to happen, and that you can’t be afraid of this conversation anymore. 

“Why did you call me out, though?”

“I miss you,” and he won’t hide it.

You smile again, that sad spread of the lips that reminds him of how you looked while he drove the pair of you to that beach in Jeongdongjin.

“And you don’t.”

Now you outright laugh. “I did miss you. I missed all of you, I always do.”

What you really mean to say is that you missed him, but not like he wanted you to miss him.

“Should I apologise?”

“For what?”

“You know what,” and he gives you a second, watches your smile drop and the lines of your face soften. “Should I?”

“No.”

“Then what do I do? Forget?”

“Jonghyun,” and you take both of his hands in your own and they’re really cold but he doesn’t care because his heart is starting to beat faster, “I don’t want to decide that for you. I won’t forget, but I can’t let that night control me anymore.”

“What… do you mean?”

It’s your turn to give him a moment to breathe, a moment to realise, a moment for both of his feet to fall on firm, hard ground…

“You didn’t stop loving him for a second, did you?”

Hearing you sigh breaks his heart, and he really thought this wouldn’t hurt but it does.

It’s been pretty okay, him dealing with this entire situation. Since that whole event at the airport he’s been fully conscious of the fact that he just… didn’t think things through enough. He didn’t consider what you felt, not as much as he should have. He decided to overlook everything, your past and your present, too. He’d been seeing a mirrored image of you, one that reflected only what he wanted to see.

The worst part of this isn’t that he can’t convince you to run away with him, or that he feels like he’ll never be good enough for you or for anyone, because he doesn’t think that at all…

What do you do when the only thing that can change your fate, any fate, is completely out of your control?

He can’t control how you feel, he can’t control how you’ve felt or why you feel that way, he can’t control time, and he can’t change it. 

“I don’t think I can see you anymore,” he doesn’t sound certain, and he looks off to the horizon and turns his entire body away from you, effectively breaking all physical contact. “I don’t think I want to see you at all.”

“I… ”

“Pity, too,” he chuckles, “I was actually looking forward to getting drunk with you at least one more time.”

“We can still do that,” but you don’t know if you can, you wonder if these are empty words or if time will heal this, too. “We can still be—  “

“Friends? I can’t be friends with you.”

You want to ask him why, but you already know the answer.

“I’m in love with you, and you’re not. Do you really think we can ever go back to being friends?”

“You’re not in love with me,” it feels like you can’t breathe but you know you’ll both feel so much better after this is over, “you’re only in love with the idea of me, of someone like me.” 

It’s the truth, if you were any other person, it wouldn’t be the same. He likes you because you’re out of reach and within his physical range, because you’re unpredictable as the ocean and it attracts him. He likes you because you always paid special attention to him, in a way that was different from Taemin and different from Jinki, and he mistook it for the wrong kind of affection.

“You don’t get to decide that either, love,” he’s looking at you like that again, like he did on that hammock in that beach. “God, I really wish I could hate you.”

“You can. You should.”

The smile spreads and his eyes get warmer, and he tilts his head to the side only a little bit before he sighs.

“Leave.”

It stings, his voice, and it’s not all that different from his usual tone. It’ll always remind you of rough hands on velvet, like river rapids after a storm. You never knew that one word could hurt so much, but you’re ready for the dull burn when it comes. Though you wish it could be different, this is just how it has to be for now.

So you stand. And you start to walk away.

“I’ll delete your number from both of my phones. So even if I ask, don’t give it to me again.”

Two steps.

“And if I find it somehow, if I call, don’t answer.”

He doesn’t want you to answer, but he wishes you would when you come to a stop.

“Don’t come to the dorms if I’m there. Don’t come to MBC if I’m there.”

You can only nod, bite your lip, accept his words and ignore the ache in your chest. A part of you believes he’s only saying this because he can’t look into your eyes, can’t see how it breaks you to hear all this. So you ball your hands into fists and try to breathe evenly because he’s doing the right thing, you know he’s doing the right thing.

“Okay.” Your voice is shaking and it makes him feel like crying, and before he can catch himself he’s on his feet and there’s anger and grief shaking every particle of him.

“If you see me anywhere, don’t greet me. Let’s pretend we’ve never met.”

You nod again, and it hurts so, so badly. he watches you take a single step away, and a rush of panic floods through the anxiety and the wrath, and before he knows it he’s doing something really, really stupid again.

You don’t move when his arms wrap around you, your jaw clenching when you hear him sniffle because he’s not doing this for your sake.

“I’m sorry,” is all you can say, it’s all you’ll ever be able to say. “I’m so sorry, Jjong.”

He heaves, only for a moment, and holds you tighter. “I forgive you,” damn his dumbass heart, “and I’m sorry, too.”

It’s a few moments later that you feel obligated to tap his hands with your own, tell him that he needs to let go.

And he does.

“Go,” he says, “don’t even turn around. I’ll try not to look for you,” and he even chuckles, “I’ll really try. I’ll find someone that’s really good for me so don’t worry. I’ll really find someone.”

“Or they’ll find you.”

Someone better than you will definitely come his way. He deserves nothing more and nothing less than happiness, after all.

Despite the tears about ready to spill over his eyes, despite his hands shaking with the loss of your body heat, he can only smile as he watches you run off. You look almost childlike, the way your hair sways along with the movement, the way you raise your arm in the direction of the building’s entrance because Jinki has just walked out…

He really wishes he could hate you, but he knows he never will.

 

_>[t](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DZGlhIIuifSw&t=ZmU3OTU3ZTQ4YTAxYzFkMjc0OWNhZTIzY2VkZDczZDZmMGJkN2M1OSwyMWY3RTJTMA%3D%3D&b=t%3AcXtpvFymmD9Dd4fNv0MUqQ&p=https%3A%2F%2Fhitchhikingbabeh.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F146926470053%2Fremontant-t&m=1)his kind of love, we can’t control_

“Why do you never listen to me?” you wish you could sound a little more authoritative, but you’re feeling really light and you can’t force yourself to be mad at Jinki right now.

He’d come with you anyway, to get both the chicken and the beer, and the last thing you saved was time and money, because in the end Jinki convinced you to hit up that new chicken and beer pub in Hongdae. He called it your ‘last adventure’, before you both go back to being a ‘walking scandal, a ticking time bomb made of of tabloid heroin.’

Kind of dramatic, but he’s right.

“We brought something back, at least,” and he holds up a huge paper bag, containing a ginormous slice of the best cheesecake in all of South Korea (and you’re a pretty solid judge of that, having lived in New York City and all). “A trophy for getting away with the kind of shit other celebrity couples only dream of doing.”

Jinki sets the paper bag on your kitchen island and watches as you browse around the drawers for spoons, and go to the fridge for whipped cream. 

“Let’s eat this now, though,” his tone is still overly poetic, and you wonder if he’ll ever do theatre again because that’d be really nice. “Us two, we have a score to settle with your shower and our new bed,” he adds, and you try your hardest not to laugh because you can’t believe he still remembers that he hasn’t managed to corner you in the shower yet. 

Maybe he won’t break his neck in there, after all. 

Only one way to find out.

“And then I have to get back to the dorms,” he finishes up, smiling widely when you give in to the giggles sat at your throat, and he’s not as discouraged to leave as he could be because he trusts you and your bond now more than ever.

But you quiet down and carefully reach out to a lower drawer, pulling out a piece of paper he could recognise from miles away.

“You still have these?”

Your expression is sheepish when you circle back around to him, and without another word you walk up to him to hand him the slip.

_stay the night._

_expiry date: my next tour kickoff. i don’t know when that is yet._

“Read the back,” he’s sheepish, too, watches your doe eyes as you carefully peel the paper.

_do you think I’ll ever say no to this? i shouldn’t promise all night, but I always do anyway. i always hated the word ‘forever’, but it sounds pretty great if i’m with you._

He’ll kill you one day, Lee Jinki.

“How many of those did I write, anyway? Are there any more left?” Jinki’s coming towards you to snatch a spoon, though only so he can scoop up some of the dessert to feed you.

He won’t say it, he can’t with the way you nibble on the stuff so cutely, but he’s fully aware of the power he gave you with that leaflet. He’d fashioned the slips as a sort of reverse Pandora’s box, filled with the things he knows you love to do and what you love to make him do…

But it also holds the one wish he never wants to make come true. 

This cheesecake really does its chef proud, and you’re glad that this doesn’t have any weird toppings because plain old strawberry is simply delicious. The yummy taste distracts you from Jinki’s question, but it makes the back of your mind sting with guilt, then slaps you in the face with memories of a time gone by, a time you shouldn’t think about anymore because you don’t have to miss Jinki anymore, you don’t have to be alone anymore.

But you swallow, and lean back on the counters so the drawer that had been open comes to a swift close.

“I don’t think so.”

He smiles and his expression looks guiltier than yours, but you look away and take the spoon from his hands to feed him some of the sweet stuff. You don’t want him to be reminded of those slips anymore, and you don’t want him to find out about the things you left behind in Malé: your anger, your sorrow and grief and the slip holding the single wish that truly, sincerely, only Lee Jinki can grant.

_let me go._

_expiry date: never._

_>[i](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3D1wc3RtxGftA&t=N2NiYWNjNGQ1OGU1ZTQ1NjYxMzYxYmU5MTllN2E2MTkzNjU5Yzk5MSwyMWY3RTJTMA%3D%3D&b=t%3AcXtpvFymmD9Dd4fNv0MUqQ&p=https%3A%2F%2Fhitchhikingbabeh.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F146926470053%2Fremontant-t&m=1)f I’m gonna fall in, I’m gonna fall my all in_

March is nice. Jonghyun can dedicate most of his time to Blue Night now, to composing and hanging out with WeFreaky and the crew to make new music. SM just gave him the green light for another solo album, this time a full length one, so his hands are full enough as it is.

SHINee’s on hiatus and even that’s a blessing, because though he loves the members in ways he’ll never be able to explain, he needed a breather.

And breathe he does.

Winter is finally sloping downward, and he has one more week before the group’s Japanese tour kicks off. As such, he’s taking every opportunity to relax and compose and write before life gets dumbly hectic again.

His latest obsession is a wild pursuit for the perfect colour to dye his hair when his comeback comes around. Right now, it’s a tie between cherry blossom pink and dark grey.

Pink’s winning. Though he’s feeling as fluffy as a broken toilet bowl these days, everything he’s written this year is almost embarrassingly romantic. And not just any kind of romantic; it’s cotton candy cloud cute or velvet red sensuous.

Old habits do die hard.

He’s actually wrapping up composing for one right now, though he can’t be as productive as he wants sitting in this break room. Blue Night starts in an hour and he should really get going but there’s something about this song that just doesn’t sound right.

_oh, sweet love, quietly sitting in front of a softly lit candle_

Hmm. That’s kind of nice. 

Suddenly, he gets a violent craving for some really good coffee. And peanut butter. 

Everyone he’s spoken to at the broadcast station has mentioned that there’s a new barista at the cafe that makes killer arabica, the kind of coffee that people are convinced is brewed with powdered gold or some kind of crack and tastes a little bit like chocolate.

Looks like today’s the day to find out, because the rumours say that the barista usually works around this hour.

Jonghyun treks down to the cafeteria with a pretty light step, though he usually doesn’t like to walk around without a manager. But he gets to the place fairly quickly, and finds that it’s is nearly deserted, which guarantees him some fresh coffee and discards any chance of being asked for an autograph or a picture.

When he first walks up to the counter, he realises there’s only one barista working (and it’s odd, tons of the people working here actually seek out coffee when it’s past 11PM), and when he recognises the first string of notes from the refrain of  _Love Belt_  spilling from the barista’s lips in the most beautiful falsetto he has ever heard, he just has to smile.

And when the barista looks up and he meets those eyes, when he sees that enchanting smile, he knows he’s in for some serious, serious trouble.

They’re the most stunning pair he has ever come across, and he’s lost in them even before he can say hello. So he does the next best thing.

He sings. 


End file.
